


The Burnham Triangle: Where The Game Is Going

by surfgirl (verushka70)



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, M/M, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-11-27
Updated: 1999-11-27
Packaged: 2018-11-11 05:14:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 75,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11141730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verushka70/pseuds/surfgirl
Summary: What happens when you fall in love with someone -- but you still love someone from before? A Ray/Fraser/Ray triangle.





	The Burnham Triangle: Where The Game Is Going

**Author's Note:**

> This story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). It has not been changed (nor will it be) on import to the AO3, except to more appropriately or descriptively tag, and to fix broken web links. Ever so grateful to [Open Doors](http://opendoors.transformativeworks.org/) and to [Speranza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Speranza/pseuds/Speranza), for making the archive import to AO3 happen. TYK!
> 
> The sequel to this never happened -- and it's not going to now. I do apologize for that. But over the years I wrote angsty, sequel-ish fics that might provide some closure. The unofficial sequel to this would be [Living in a Bomb Shelter](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11141856).

  
The Burnham Triangle: Where The Game Is Going

These characters are owned by Alliance and no copyright infringement is intended. 

The Burnham Triangle series is about a Ray/Fraser/Ray love triangle. **It is slash**. Though mostly drama, it does contain sex, and some of that sex is definitely NC-17. Turn back now if you are not an adult in your local jurisdiction.

Angst warning... 

****

Feedback to Surfgirl -- flames will light my patchouli incense! © 1998, 1999 Surfgirl  
  


#### The Burnham Triangle: Where The Game Is Going

  
  
Chapter 1: Everything's Changed 

Ray Kowalski danced with Stella, on the restaurant boat, just as he had the night Stella and Alderman Orsini were almost blown to bits by the champagne bottle bomb. But this time there was no exploding bottle. No Alderman Orsini. And no Fraser to save the day, because the day didn't need saving. 

Ray felt light as air, and Stella was light as air. They danced off the boat onto the surface of the water. The Chicago skyline shimmered in the dark behind them, and swirled around them as they twirled and waltzed. His heart was light, his feet sure and swift. The water was a spongy surface below them, like a wet lawn after a spring rain. 

His shoulder was warm under Stella's arm, her back lithe and warm under his palm. He looked into her eyes, those beautiful green eyes. But they looked sad just now. Since she had become his ex-wife -- no, even before that -- her eyes often had a sad look. That is, when they didn't have an annoyed look -- directed at him. 

And then suddenly he was slowly sinking, his feet like lead. They slowed down in the waltz, like a projector jamming right before the film starts to burn. The water was over his ankles, approaching his knees. He clutched Stella to him, to save her. She struggled to free herself from his arms, as he held her tighter. But his fear for her safety was rapidly replaced by panic for himself -- he couldn't swim, had never learned. He was really going down now -- the water was at his hips. Whatever was drawing him down continued inexorably pulling him, as if cartoon anvils were tied to his ankles. As if he were being sucked down a giant dark drain in Monroe harbor. 

The water was at his chest now and Stella slipped out of his arms. The water splashed up his neck. She swam a few feet away and watched him sadly as he began to flail. The water was up to his chin. He took a great gasp of air, getting a spluttering mouthful of water as the increasing waves closed over his head. He looked up through the murky surface of the water. He saw the dark shadow of Stella silhouetted by the fuzzy blur of boat, skyscraper and harbor lights. 

He was losing air, he realized, and tiring himself out faster by flailing. It was hopeless anyway -- since he couldn't swim, he was certainly going to drown. He sank further and darkness -- the night, the deep water -- closed out all light. His body grew limp as his chest felt like it would burst. Blue and pink sparkles shifted before his eyes. 

And then suddenly he was roughly grabbed by the shoulders. A mouth was fiercely pressed to his, and a tongue thrust his lips apart. He fought, crazed and fearful. But then warm breath entered his mouth, with brackish Lake Michigan water seeping in at the imperfect seal between their lips. 

He gasped, sputtering, and his struggling turned to a desperate clinging to the body of his savior. Two hands gently tilted his head and pulled his mouth closer, tightening the seal. Ray breathed in carefully, making sure he inhaled only through his mouth. His panic ebbed and he relaxed, opening his eyes. The water was no longer dark, but inexplicably blue green and shot through with sunlight. He was looking directly into the watery but clear blue eyes of his erstwhile partner, Royal Canadian Mounted Police Constable Benton Fraser. 

Fraser's short hair wafted around his head like a wreath underwater. He slowly pulled his lips from Ray's while pushing Ray's chin up to shut his mouth, so no water would get in. Ray was stunned, but had no time to think -- Fraser surfaced, dragging Ray up with him by the collar. 

It seemed to take forever for Fraser to get to the surface with him. Ray felt the water streaming strongly past him and yet, again, it was as if it were happening in slow motion. When they finally broke the surface, Ray was seeing stars again. He squeezed his eyes shut against the bright sunlight, gasping and heaving blindly. He'd never loved air so much before. With strong kicks and strokes, Fraser pulled Ray to shore. 

They stumbled heavily up onto Oak Street Beach -- the Gold Coast -- the Drake Hotel facing them from across Lake Shore Drive. Ray collapsed onto the sand, face to the blue sky. Ragged breathing and the chill air made him shudder. The sand under him was warm, though, from the sun. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the flash of red as Fraser removed his serge jacket and threw it on him for warmth. Fraser's arm extended across Ray's chest, and Ray grabbed it. 

"What was that?" he demanded of Fraser. 

"What was what?" Fraser responded, still leaning over him, concerned blue eyes looking down into his. Ray looked up at his face. It was surreally clear and bright against the blue sky. 

"That thing you were doing with your mouth," Ray continued, coughing. 

"Oh, that. Buddy breathing." 

"Buddy breathing?" 

"Yes, well, you seemed to be in a -- having a bit of a problem, I have excess lung capacity... it's standard operating procedure." 

"All right, all right," Ray mumbled, his pounding heart calming from the fear and confusion. "So then, nothing's, like, changed between us?" he asked Fraser uncertainly. Squinting into those compelling blue eyes, Ray glanced at Fraser's pursed lips and wrinkled brow. A strange feeling of deja vu overcame Ray. 

"On the contrary, Ray," Fraser said quietly, his expression clearing. "Everything's changed." And he leaned down and softly pressed his lips to Ray's, letting his chest rest on Ray's. 

Pinned as he was, stunned and still disoriented, Ray did nothing. He accepted the kiss. When Fraser began moving his lips against Ray's, Ray began to stir. His right hand was confined between their chests, under Fraser's red serge uniform jacket. He raised his free hand to Fraser's shoulder, to push him off. But Fraser grabbed that wrist, forcing it back to the sand gently but firmly. His kiss moved more urgently on Ray's mouth, demanding response. 

Ray closed his eyes again, thinking _I was right, he is unhinged_ , but found his lips responding as if they had a will of their own. He tried to imagine Stella was kissing him, but her image wouldn't come in clearly. He found himself inexplicably opening his mouth to accept Fraser's tentative tongue. Then he felt himself stiffening, his wet, itchy jeans suddenly constricting. 

In shock, Ray's eyes shot open. Fraser opened his eyes at the exact same time, and their gazes locked. And at that moment, Ray knew that Fraser knew that Ray had become aroused. Ray felt the next throb of his heart throughout his entire body. His throat constricted with a lump of fear, excitement, shame, and longing. Fraser released his pinned wrist slowly, and paused in his kiss. 

A moment's hesitation... Ray closed his eyes, feeling weightless, feeling time had stopped. And then his warring desires propelled the previously pinned wrist up, and he was pulling Fraser down for a hot wet soul kiss. He felt the Mountie's slick wet hair under his fingers. The soaked thighs of his jeans warmed under the sun. His jeans became even more constricting as his arousal swelled, and then his body jerked \--- 

Ray Kowalski jerked awake in the blue, pre-dawn darkness. He had kicked the covers off. The cool air in his bedroom chilled the thin sheen of sweat on his skinny legs. His T-shirt was wet under his armpits and on his chest. He sat up, his erection tenting his briefs. He grabbed the blankets and pulled them up to his chin, sinking back down into the bed. 

__

What the hell was that? he asked himself. _I should never have asked my mom about the DA Stella's dating. That's why I had that weird dream._ It mixed the scare on the freight ship with the last time he'd seen Stella for more than passing moments in the precinct... And with some other weird Fraser shit. He purposely thought of Stella, her lithe arms and sweet, quick smile. But the image -- the feeling of the dream kiss on the beach with Fraser -- broke into that thought. Irritated, Ray sat up and punched his pillows, rearranging them for comfort, and flopped back down onto them. 

He gritted his teeth and thought of Stella. Of kissing Stella. And his hand crept to pull his briefs down and grab his cock. He was determined to think only of Stella, and did, successfully. But even as he approached orgasm, his thoughts of Stella turned from sexual to mournful... wistful... sad. And then suddenly, again, the "buddy breathing" incident on the freighter popped into his mind. His hand still moved mechanically on his cock. The buddy breathing faded into Fraser 's kiss on the dream beach... Ray groaned from the mingled sadness and excitement and shame, his hand moving faster. Unable now to stop, his orgasm was inevitable. His body jerked involuntarily for some moments. 

Afterward, his heart beat and breathing slowing, he alternated worrying about these thoughts of Fraser and obsessing about the new man in Stella's life. He shivered in bed. _I'm getting a cold. That's what it is, I'm getting sick_ , he thought to himself. 

"I'm feverish," he said aloud, though there was no one to hear. "That's why I got all sweaty," he muttered. 

Again he deliberately thought of Stella. He recalled her with him in various positions -- gasping under him, straddling him -- even though it was bittersweet to think of such things. As he began to relax back into sleep, he clung to those thoughts. But swimming just below the surface of that thought was Fraser 's buddy breathing. Then the dream kiss on the beach darted in and out, momentarily blocking out thoughts of Stella, and then retreating. Ray fell back asleep and twitched fitfully for a couple more hours, before the light came and his alarm jarred him into another day. 

* * * 

Chapter 2: Okay Then 

The ringing of Ray K.'s cellular phone woke Constable Fraser from his fitful sleep. In the darkness and confusion of just waking up, he looked about him, seeing blank walls and realizing he was sleeping on a bedroll on the floor. The phone emitted another piercing electronic ring. He fumbled for it in the rumpled red sleeping bag next to him. Finally he had the gadget, flipped it open and pressed the button. 

"Ray Vecchio's cellular phone," he said as he put it up to his ear. 

"Benny?" came the familiar voice. Fraser's heart jumped into his throat and began pounding. 

"Benny? Are you there?" came Ray Vecchio's -- the real Ray Vecchio's -- voice again. Fraser finally found his voice. 

"Ray?" he half whispered. It had been so long since he'd heard Ray Vecchio's voice. 

"Yeah, Benny, it's me. Listen, I can't talk long. But I had to call," Ray's voice vibrated through the phone. 

"Ray, I--" Fraser began, and then abruptly stopped. Light from the bathroom momentarily blinded him and Ray Kowalski stepped into the room. The room Turnbull had decided not to rent, Fraser realized. But the last time they'd been here, they'd had a protected federal witness with them. What were they doing here now? And why was he lying here in his union suit? 

"Benny," Vecchio interrupted Fraser again, as Ray K. shut off the bathroom light. He stepped over Fraser to his red sleeping bag. He wore nothing but a T-shirt and briefs. Kowalski sat down next to Fraser, pulling the sleeping bag up to Fraser's bedroll. Ray V. continued, "Benny, I gotta... I mean... Listen." Vecchio paused. 

"Yes?" Fraser began, but then Ray K. curled up to him, draping an arm and a leg over his chest and his thighs. Fraser tensed all over, shocked. 

"You know that I'm undercover here, Benny," Vecchio continued more quietly. Fraser felt Ray K.'s warm breath in his ear; while Ray Vecchio's voice continued in his other ear. "You know, I might be required to do some... things while undercover." 

"Things," Fraser repeated numbly. Why on earth was Ray Kowalski wrapped around him? Not that, strictly speaking, it was unpleasant... it was just _very_ unusual and highly unlikely. And yet Ray K. was curled up to him. 

"Yeah, you know. Things. And, Benny, I know I left you alone, with no real explanation. I never got the chance to really say good-bye or why I was leaving. " 

"Yes, well--" Fraser started again, then nearly jumped out of his skin when Ray Kowalski began unbuttoning his union suit. 

"What's wrong witchoo?" Ray K. whispered, feeling Fraser freeze. Fraser looked over at him, feeling the slow creep of warmth up his chest and neck to his hairline. Thank God for the semi-darkness; Kowalski wouldn't be able to see him blushing. 

"Ray, I had a feeling you couldn't speak freely about your departure when we spoke last," Fraser said to Vecchio. 

"Yeah, well, I just wanted to let you know that I... I miss you." Ray Vecchio paused. 

"And I, you," Fraser responded, then nearly dropped the phone in shock as he felt Ray Kowalski's hand slip under his union suit to stroke down his chest, and his belly, to rest on his hip. Using Fraser's hip as a handle, the detective pulled Fraser's body tightly against his. He gripped the Mountie's body with the leg he'd draped over it. Fraser felt the warmth of Kowalski's arousal swelling slowly against him. The friction of Ray's leg over his groin was beginning to arouse Benton. 

"Benny, I didn't wanna leave, but I hadda go," Vecchio continued. "I left you in the lurch." 

"No you didn't, Ray," the Mountie replied, then couldn't continue because the detective slid his straddling leg down, and his warm hand caressed Fraser's inner thigh, then slid upward slightly to grasp his slowly lengthening and thickening organ. 

"Yeah, I did, Benny. And I'm sorry. And I don't know when we're going to see each other again," Ray V. went on. Fraser quickly turned to look at Kowalski, who was smiling sheepishly as he caressed him. Fraser reached down with his free hand and grasped Kowalski's wrist. Ray K.'s eyebrows frowned at him, then screwed together into a question. 

Vecchio continued, "I know you'll get lonely. I mean, I'm lonely. I miss you. I guess before, I didn't know what I was missing, but now... anyways, if you were to, uh, you know, I just want you to know it's okay and I understand. Because I hope you would understand if I.... I mean, I might _have_ to, so I don't blow my cover," Ray continued awkwardly. 

"Ray. I think I understand what you're saying," Fraser said as calmly as he could, while he spoke on the phone to his known lover and simultaneously inhabited an alternate universe where Ray Kowalski was also his lover -- a lover whose wrist he currently grasped, to make Ray desist from caressing him. Kowalski, momentarily stymied, rocked his pelvis against Fraser's hip rhythmically, pressing that stiff but yielding erection against him in disconcertingly urgent way. "No, Ray," Fraser went on, "I wouldn't hold it against you. I would understand. There are... things... things that arise, uh, that arise between men--" 

"Benny, look. You're good looking. I'm the one who seduced you, but I'm sure you've had your share of offers. So if what you're trying to say is it's already happened, forget it." 

"But, Ray! I--" Fraser protested, feeling Kowalski's hardness thrusting gently against him. He still held Ray K.'s wrist, and the detective's hand still encircled his half-mast organ. 

"Benny," Ray interrupted, "I'm not asking for explanations or excuses. And I don't wanna know the details. Just... I figured it might happen eventually, if I was gone too long. And besides, nothing can ever break what we have between us," Vecchio finished. "Right?" he added, rather plaintively. 

Fraser looked from Kowalski to the ceiling, and closed his eyes. He imagined Ray Vecchio next to him. He imagined Ray's hand in his union suit. He felt himself getting more physically aroused at the same time as he felt increasingly guilty. 

"Right, Ray," he answered firmly and loudly, "nothing can ever break what we have between us." 

Kowalski withdrew his hand from Fraser's grasp and union suit, and rolled onto his back, away from Fraser. He stared at the ceiling. Fraser opened his eyes, to look at the open bulb in the ceiling fixture above them. The slim detective's breathing seemed overly loud. 

"Thanks, Benny," the voice on the cell phone murmured. "I needed to hear that. Listen, I really gotta go. I miss you. And I love you. Whatever happens, remember that." 

"I will Ray, and --" 

"I know, Benny. I know. Good-bye." 

"Good-bye, Ray," Fraser said to the click on the line. He pressed the End button and slowly flipped the phone shut. 

"That was Vecchio," Ray Kowalski said next to him, still staring at the ceiling. It was not a question. It was a statement. 

"Yes." The silence between them lengthened. 

"Look, Fraser," Ray K. began, and rolled onto his side, propping his head on an elbow. "I got no illusions about this. I wasn't expecting it, you weren't expecting it, it's just..." he trailed off. 

Fraser turned his head to look at him, but couldn't, and looked away to the ceiling again. 

"I wasn't expecting that phone call," he said to Ray K. He glanced over at him again, but avoided Ray's eyes. "It's been months since I heard from him and I thought it would be many more months before I _did_." 

"I know that," Ray interrupted, "Fraser, I know that. I know you care about him more than me." Fraser looked over in protest, and rolled onto his side to fully look at Kowalski. 

"Don't Fraser. I know it, you know it, I'm not expecting any... kind of long term..." he trailed off a moment, then said, "I don't know what to expect. I don't know where this is goin'. But let's... let's enjoy it while we have it. Right? Okay?" 

"Alright," Fraser said quietly, his head propped, mirroring Ray K.'s position. "Okay then." 

Ray K. slowly broke into that endearing grin, and Fraser sighed, disoriented. _How did this happen? How did I get here with Ray?_

"Okay, then," Ray K. repeated, and slid close to Fraser, pulling his union suit open and exposing his chest. Fraser hesitated and held his breath. But Ray leaned forward and kissed his chest, slowing pushing him onto his back. He kissed the Mountie down his chest to his navel, his belly... 

Fraser, head still raised, watched in bewilderment and increasing excitement. Watched as Ray got up on his knees to lean over and undo the last buttons at Fraser's crotch. _How can this be happening?_ Fraser wondered again, even as he shivered in excitement. Ray K. looked up at Fraser and winked, and then in one fluid motion engulfed Fraser with his mouth. 

Fraser exhaled forcefully through clenched teeth, squeezing his eyes shut and letting his head thump back on the floor. His hands instinctively went into Ray K.'s just-woke-up hair. This felt as shocking and pleasurable as it had the first time Ray Vecchio had done this to him. As his excitation built, Fraser lifted his head again to watch Ray K. He saw Ray eyeing him, and felt Ray's neck muscles relax to let Fraser control his movements. Involuntary tears glistened at the corners of Ray's eyes. Fraser's fingers involuntarily tightened in Ray's hair. Their eyes met briefly across his belly, just before Fraser spasmed and jerked, groaning, and threw his head back and -- 

Fraser jerked awake in his room at the consulate, the dream images and sensations still vivid even as he saw the room, saw the blue darkness of early morning. His hand crept down to feel himself, but although he was aroused -- painfully aroused -- nothing else had happened. He rolled onto his side, unable to put the images out of his mind. 

Ray Kowalski? Why was he dreaming of Ray K. that way? And surely Ray Vecchio and he would never have such a conversation in real life. They'd never even actually discussed it. It was just... assumed, at least Fraser assumed, that they would only be with each other, although obviously with Ray gone, and undercover, certain things might be required, certain things, so perhaps the dream Vecchio's understanding and forgiving-- 

__

Stop that, Fraser told himself. _You can't think of Ray K. that way; he isn't like you and you can't tell him. You don't want to tell him. It is not a wise idea._

But still Fraser couldn't forget the image of that wiry frame and tousled spiky head curved over his hips, pleasuring him. He tossed the covers off, and strode over to the closet. He stood before it for a while, his hand over his eyes. 

Then he opened the door, and looked in, but all he saw was the back of the closet. He leaned against the door jamb and sighed and closed his eyes. He stood there for some time. 

Chapter 2: "The Desperate Bad Vibes" Blues 

They were transferring one of Ray's arrests from the 27th district to the 6th district, Gresham, on the South Side, in a blue and white rather than Ray Kowalski's unmarked car. For once Fraser was in civvies, wearing a pair of faded jeans and a red and black plaid flannel shirt over a white T-shirt. _Must like the red/black combo_ , Kowalski thought. Of course, everything was neatly tucked in, belted and buttoned. That perfectionist military flair of Fraser's. The cuffs of his sleeves were neatly rolled up to the middle of his fore-arms under his leather jacket. 

Ray glanced over at Fraser's handsome profile, his shades hiding the look. He always felt so untucked, sloppy and unkempt next to Fraser. Even wearing nice pants and a good jacket. Even when he'd had a shower, spiked his hair, and was looking presentable. _It's not enough he's a walking encyclopedia, good with kids and old people, and always right_ , Ray thought. _He's gotta be good looking, too? And so clueless, even, about his looks_. You couldn't even dislike Fraser for being arrogant or vain. Ray sighed. 

"Is something bothering you, Ray?" Fraser looked over and asked kindly. 

He got a sidelong glance from Ray, through the sunglasses, and a "Nah, not really." 

Fraser hesitated. "You've been very quiet today," he added. 

"Yeah, well..." Ray couldn't think of a comeback, so he shrugged. 

"Is it... something I've done?" Fraser asked quietly. 

"No, Fraser," Ray burst out impatiently, then reined himself in and took a deep breath. "Look. I know I said some things before, when we were both considering our transfers, before we decided not to take them \-- I know I said you get on my nerves -- I mean, some times you do -- y'know, how you decide stuff for both of us, and that's what we hafta do and all. I just hadda get those things off my chest, Fraser. But I didn't mean you hadda completely change how you are with me." 

Fraser sighed and looked ahead, scraping a brow with his thumbnail. "Ray," he began, "Well, some of what you said was true, I realized, after I thought about it for some time. I'm just trying to... temper those things." 

"Well, it seems..." Ray trailed off. 

"What?" 

"Unnatural," Ray finished slowly. "Besides, I didn't mean for you to be walking on eggs or somethin'". 

"Well, I'm not walking on eggs," Fraser said, "not really. I'm just trying to show some deference." 

"Well, you don't hafta defer _everything_ to me. Like, we can still have a conversation." 

"True," Fraser said. "But you seemed lost in thought. I didn't want to distract you." 

"I need some distracting, Fraser. What I'm thinking about... I don't wanna think about it anymore. I gotta think about something else," Ray mumbled. Fraser glanced over at Ray, but Ray's dark sunglasses masked his eyes. 

Fraser looked down at the Stetson in his lap, fingering the hat band. He debated whether he should ask Ray what he was thinking about. Ask whether he was thinking about Stella. 

Just then Ray spoke. "It's Stella. Again. Now I hear from my mom she's seeing this DA guy." Ray sighed. 

"Well, Ray," Fraser began slowly, carefully, "perhaps you should ask your mother not to tell you these things. It would no doubt be much better for you if you didn't know." 

Ray shook his head and looked down. He put his cheek in his hand, elbow resting against the door jam and window. The suspect in the back stirred and jangled his handcuffs. But Ray didn't notice. He rested his other hand on the steering wheel as they waited at a red light. 

"I ask her," he admitted quietly, looking away from Fraser. 

The robbery suspect spoke up from the back seat. "No woman, no cry," he intoned sadly, shaking his head. Ray glanced in the rear view mirror with annoyance, about to tell the suspect to zip it. But the man's watery hazel eyes were so compassionate, and his expression sympathetic -- despite the several days' beard growth and dirty lines in his face -- that Ray abruptly shut his mouth, clenching his jaw. _A robbery suspect, giving me sympathy_ , Ray thought. _What a loser. I suck_. 

Fraser opened his mouth, then closed it and sighed inwardly. He knew only too well the terrible pull of thinking about, dwelling on, things that could not be. Future events that could only be imagined, not planned or known. He himself spent a great deal of energy putting things and people out of his mind, when one considered it -- which he preferred not to. 

"Ray," Fraser began, "I know how hard it must be to keep from wondering what Stella is doing, who she is seeing, and ...other things. But you _must_ stop asking your mother about Stella's activities, even if they do talk frequently. That is the only way you will have any peace about it." 

"You got to walk away, man, just walk away," added the suspect. Ray frowned at him in the rear view mirror, but the suspect just shook his head sympathetically, and turned to look out the window. 

Ray looked over at Fraser, his eyebrows querying over his sunglasses. "You talk like you know from experience," he said, surprised. He accelerated slowly through the congested intersection. 

"Well, I --" Fraser started, and flushed. "I have been acquainted with loss and loneliness," he finished quietly. 

Ray looked at the traffic, at Fraser, and back at the traffic. The car moved forward slowly through the mid-day gridlock. "I just... can't picture you with a past," he said, sounding surprised. "You seem so..." he trailed off. 

"What?" Fraser finally asked, fearing the worst. 

"Well, no offense, Fraser, but you seem kinda clueless mosta the time," Ray said. "I mean, you don't even seem to notice how women fall all over you all the time. Lotsa guys would _love_ it if that happened to them, and you don't even notice." 

Fraser swallowed, relieved that Ray wasn't thinking something else potentially embarrassing and utterly private as far as Fraser was concerned... such as his preference, his love... 

"I guess I'm still getting over someone," he told Ray finally. "So even if I do notice, it doesn't mean anything to me." 

Ray shook his head. "Yeah, I know how that goes. But if it was me, I guess I'd be... drowning my sorrows in the opportunities..." 

"I'm not... that's not me." 

"I know. I just..." Kowalski paused. "Well, maybe if that was happening to me, I'd spend less time thinking about Stella. I'm sure not having any luck though. No one wants to go out with me. It's like, I know I'm damaged, but, what -- am I contaminated, too, or something?" 

"Well, Ray, perhaps women can sense that your mind is on another woman, and not on them," Fraser pointed out. 

"Maybe," Ray admitted. "But it would sure help take my mind off Stella if I at least had someone to have coffee or dinner with once in a while. But there's no one. And now you're saying that I _don't_ have anyone like that _because_ they can sense I'm thinkin' about Stella. But I can't stop thinking about Stella because there's no one else, so... it's like a vicious circle with no way out." 

"It's them desperate bad vibes," the robbery suspect added, leaning forward to rest his forehead on the grate between front and back seats. 

"What?" Ray snapped. Fraser turned to look at the suspect, while Ray glanced from the road to the rear-view mirror and back, irritated. 

"Well, ya know how when you're really, really lonely, and you wanna get a girl, or even you just wanna get laid, but no chicks'll give you any play? Cuz they can tell you're desperate? It's like they can smell you're desperate and it gives them a bad vibe, and they stay away. Like animals stay away from another animal when they can tell it's sick or somethin'. But if you get through that long enough, after a while -- could be weeks, could be months -- I even knew a guy it took years. After a while, you get used to being lonely, and you don't mind it so much, you're not desperate anymore. Maybe you already gave up and said, to hell with women, to hell with love. I got my hooch, I got my stash, I don't need no one... 

"Well. That's when they come out of the woodwork, and they're all over you like flies on shit." He nodded confidently against the grating, revealing the indentation of the grate pattern in the middle of his forehead. "That's what it is, man. They can smell you're desperate. Soon as you lose that, they'll be all over you." 

"That's a remarkably astute observation of the dynamics of male/female social interaction, sir," Fraser began. But with one look from Ray -- a look that would kill if it could, even with the sunglasses on -- he decided not to continue, and shut his mouth, turning away. 

Ray pulled the car over at the Gresham district headquarters, meanly slamming on the brakes. He watched with satisfaction as the grunting suspect was bounced backward in the back seat. "Well, philosopher," he said sarcastically to the prisoner in the back seat, "no more time for wise words from you. Here's your new home." To Fraser, he said, "I'll be right back." 

Ray got out of the car, opened the back passenger door, and pulled the suspect out slowly by the arm. Diefenbaker waited for the suspect to get out, and then he jumped out, too. He ran around to the sidewalk as Fraser got out of the car. 

"I'll wait here," Fraser said, opening his door and standing tall to stretch his legs. He watched Dief sniff the garbage under the blue and white's tires. 

"Right," Ray replied, his face expressionless, his sunglasses hiding his eyes. "C'mon, Socrates," he said with a sigh to the extradited suspect, the sarcasm gone from his voice. He pushed the man ahead of him up the stairs, slowly. Then he opened the door for him before pushing him inside. 

Fraser stood outside by the car, watching Dief trot up and down the sidewalk. The wolf sniffed this and that in the chilly, late morning sun. Too bad, Fraser reflected, the dog couldn't sniff out or track down a suitable woman for RayK. Or his own Italian detective for himself... 

"Okay, let's go get some lunch," Ray said, bursting back out of the district doors and down the steps to the car. 

"All right," Fraser agreed. They got in the car and drove in silence for a while, each lost in his own thoughts. Ray kept glancing over at Fraser surreptitiously. Finally, after the third or fourth time, Fraser spoke up. 

"What is it, Ray?" 

"Huh? What is what?" 

"You keep looking at me." 

"Nothin'. I just..." Ray trailed off. 

"You just... what?" 

"I just can't picture you with a past. I mean, it seems like neither one of us is getting any sex or anything even resembling sex, but at least I think about it. You never seem to. 'Least, you never talk about it. Not that I'm saying you have to," he added hastily, knowing that Fraser was rather private and formal about such things. "It's just... you with a past," he continued lamely. "A new concept for me." 

"Well, it's not much of one," Fraser began, prepared to speak of Victoria only, and only if specific questions were asked. 

"Nah, I didn't mean that. Heck, you're a good-lookin' guy. You've probably got quite a history, for all I know. Probably more 'n me." 

"There's nothing wrong with you, Ray." 

"Oh, come on, Fraser. Cut the crap. I may have my moments, but I'm just goofy-lookin'. You're the handsome prince. You're like a chick magnet." 

"Ray," Fraser broke in, "I think of myself as fairly scrawny." 

"Scrawny?!" Ray snorted in a half-bitter laugh, turning those dark shades Fraser's way. "If _you're_ scrawny, it's no wonder I got no karmic chi love thing happening. I must look like a scarecrow to women, when you're around. That would explain why they don't even see me when I'm with you." 

"Now, Ray, that's just not true," Fraser said, beginning to blush again. 

"What isn't?" 

"That women don't notice you when I'm around. Of course they do." 

"No they don't. Not like they notice _you_. When? Who?" 

"Well, I--" 

"See? You can't even think of any." Ray interrupted, not even giving Fraser a chance to name any. 

"Ray." 

No response. Kowalski was staring blankly ahead at traffic again. He scowled, oblivious, ruminating. 

"Ray." Fraser said again. "Ray. Ray. Ray." 

"What?!" Ray finally snapped and looked over at him, annoyed. 

"Look, Ray. You _are_ an attractive man. No, it isn't in the same way I might be considered... conventionally handsome. But you are attractive. You are tall. You have quite a nice, though often mischievous, smile. You have very nice eyes, and when your hair is up you're quite..." 

Fraser trailed off, beginning to blush with embarrassment. He realized he had been noticing these things for quite some time. Looking with rather more interest than a partner should look. Noticing things that he didn't know if a partner was supposed to notice... The wiry tendons at Ray Kowalski's wrists. The hip-swinging saunter Ray affected when he was feeling cocksure. The delicate veins at his temples that throbbed faintly when he was angry or upset. The way he occasionally casually threw an arm around Fraser's shoulders. 

Like he had that day when Janet the bounty hunter had left, leaving Fraser confused, and lonelier than before he'd tasted her lips -- for she had reminded him of what he was missing. Thank God Ray had been there to distract him, take him out for dinner-- 

"Quite what?" Ray interrupted the visions Fraser saw, even as Fraser's unfocused eyes looked at the real Ray Kowalski and saw the Ray in his mind's eye, instead. Fraser shook his head to dislodge such thoughts. 

"Quite... fetching," Fraser finished hastily, fearing he'd say too much if he said any more. Ray looked ahead at the road. The traffic was thinning as they finally got onto south Lake Shore Drive, heading north for downtown. For some reason, the dream he'd had of Fraser -- forgotten until now -- popped into his head. And then the "buddy breathing" incident rose in his mind's eye. Then his thoughts flitted to the afternoon in the grave chapel with Fraser. 

"Fraser, last time we talked about this, you said you weren't qualified to judge," he smiled ruefully. He glanced over at Fraser with a tight smile. "But I appreciate the thought." Ray felt sweat break out on his forehead as he looked back at the road. He felt... peculiar. Not quite uncomfortable, but not comfortable, either. A certain heat below his skin threatened to erupt but didn't quite. Kind of like the sweats before food poisoning. Maybe that cold or flue was really taking hold now... 

__

Oh, but I am qualified to judge, Fraser thought, _more qualified than you could know_. "But Ray--" 

"Thanks, Fraser. I appreciate what you're tryin' to do here. But it ain't workin'. Let's just... never mind. Let's just talk about somethin' else," Ray finished. But secretly, he hoped Fraser was telling the truth and he felt a little better. He sure could use the ego boosting Fraser was trying to give him. 

The buddy breathing incident popped into his head again. He felt grateful, thinking how Fraser's actions had saved his life. And he felt grateful now for Fraser's kind words. Although he also felt a little silly -- for caring if Fraser really thought he was attractive. For hoping that he did, for what that could mean... but of course it meant only that Fraser thought he must be attractive to women. But what did Fraser know of women? 

He glanced over at Fraser, who was looking down at the Stetson in his lap. The Mountie shook his head and looked up at Ray just as Ray was looking over at him. Ray looked at those clear blue eyes, and remembered, _this guy never lies_ \-- 

Fraser looked at the spiky blond hair, at Ray's hardened expression, further sharpened by the dark sunglasses. He thought, _he looks best when he drops the cocksure, cynical facade. When he's being real, when he's being kind or concerned_ \-- 

And then Ray's eyebrows knit in a question over his sunglasses-- And then the buddy breathing incident on the freighter popped into Fraser's mind. But he remembered the incident as if he had been an objective onlooker, watching it happen to two completely different men. 

And then it turned into something else in his mind, into a real kiss, the water inexplicably flowing away as things do in dream logic. The other Fraser grasped the soaking RayK by the upper arms, his lips working against the detective's mouth. RayK's initial struggle and resistance slowly melted into a passionate response. His hands slid up the sides of the wet Mountie, and around to his back. His lips parted to receive the Mountie's tongue... And then Fraser felt the slow rise of heat from his collar to his face and knew he was blushing-- 

And Ray broke into that soft grin. Fraser felt the seconds while it faced him were timeless, slow, churning in his tightening breast like the blood now rushing in his ears. He realized his mouth hung slightly open, lips parted in an unconscious pantomime of what he'd been visualizing... _Stop it_ , he thought frantically, _before you frighten Ray. Before he realizes what you're thinking..._

And Ray's grin faded into a perplexed look, a curious bewilderment. His jaw slackened in surprise, with a dawning recognition-- 

And then they both looked away from each other, out opposite windows, Fraser loosening his collar, Ray's grin fading... And as Ray exited Lake Shore Drive, and they pulled up at the light that had just turned red, Ray glanced sidelong at Fraser. He found Fraser glancing sidelong at him -- or trying to, while simultaneously trying to appear like he was looking straight ahead... 

__

Nah, that wasn't what I thought it was, Ray swiftly denied. Even as the phrase and the memory of "buddy breathing" nipped at the tail end of the denial... 

Ray smiled a sheepish smile, embarrassed, and turned to look at Fraser. He was thankful that he was at least wearing sunglasses. Fraser turned to look at him. The perplexed and worried look on _his_ pink face melted away into a sheepish look when he saw Ray's expression. 

"C'mon, Fraser. Let's get some bad coffee and greasy food." 

"Right you are," Fraser said, clearing his throat loudly. 

They drove on, Fraser nervously fingering his Stetson in his lap. Ray's long fingers tapping incessantly on the steering wheel. _New subject, new subject!_ Ray's mind chanted. 

"How 'bout those Bulls? Jordan, huh?" Ray began a nervous patter. "Another championship for them, I just know it, before Jordan really retires. But that's all nothin' you haven't heard before. So explain to me how curling is a sport and not housecleaning, Fraser," he baited the Mountie good-naturedly. 

"Well, Ray, curling is..." Fraser began. Ray settled back into the seat more comfortably, feeling safer on the more familiar conversational ground. But despite his desire to argue that curling was _not_ a real sport, just to bug Fraser, Ray found himself unintentionally tuning out Fraser's words. He heard only his voice, a voice that could be saying anything. A voice that could be right beside him, in his ear. Warm ticklish breath, causing the hairs on the back of Kowalski's neck to stand up... 

He jerked himself back to the present, to Fraser's droning on about curling. He looked over at Fraser, as if listening... For a little too long apparently, as Fraser looked back at him and trailed off until both were completely silent. Ray looked away again. 

"You were saying?" he prompted Fraser, looking at the road. But he saw the Fraser in his dream, felt the cool lips on his own. Looked into those clear blue eyes, and saw that the dream Fraser knew he was responding. And yet there was no disgust, no anger, no rejection. No turning away in the Mountie's gaze. Only a hopeful hitching of his breath, without a pause in the kiss-- 

"Ray. Ray. Ray." Kowalski came back to the present, realizing he must have been driving on autopilot. Fraser had been repeating his name for God knew how long. 

"What, Fraser," he said dully, sinking lower in his seat, afraid to look at the Mountie. 

"Oh..." The Mountie trailed off. "Nothing. Shall I leave you to your thoughts, again?" Fraser asked gently. 

"No. Uh, no. Sorry. I'll pay attention. Now, what were you saying?" 

Fraser looked searchingly at Ray, and Ray felt the gaze on him. But he wouldn't turn, he _wouldn't_ turn, he _wouldn't_... 

And the Mountie once again looked straight ahead, cleared his throat, and began again about curling. Ray cast a silent, sidelong glance at the handsome profile. Confusion mingled with fear mingled with yearning, and a lump of chaotic longing and desire rose in his throat. He swallowed hard and drove on, trying to concentrate on Fraser's words, not just his voice. Trying to picture Stella where he saw Fraser. But picturing Stella only saddened him and he thrust the image from his mind. 

The dream image of the Mountie returned unbidden. A tiny spark of good feeling accompanied the idea of Fraser. Ray tried not to think about it too hard. It was there, it felt good, that's all he needed to know. He didn't want to think about it in any more detail than that. He swallowed again to dispel the lump in his throat. And again. And several more times before he realized he couldn't get away that easily. Alright, it was hope! Hope. He cleared his throat gruffly, dispelling the lump, and then he knew and heard once more what Fraser was saying and felt capable of replying. 

But beneath his conversational babble, he felt the internal whisper. 

(Hope.) 

(No.) 

(Hope 

(No!) 

(Hope.) 

... 

(Hope.) 

Chapter 3: A Lighter Touch 

"So that's it?" Kowalski asked Lieutenant Welsh. "That's all we got to go on? The perp goes to gay bars? No description?" 

"You're a detective. Detect! Go talk to the victim. He's still in the hospital but they said he could go home in a day or two. The description he gave coulda described half-a-dozen guys." 

"Great," Ray Kowalski muttered. "Where's Fraser's soft sell interrogation technique when you need it?" 

He grabbed his jacket and threw it on, striding past Frannie's desk so quickly the papers lifted in the breeze. 

\--- 

At the Canadian Consulate, Turnbull answered the door. Kowalski pushed past him into the foyer, and then peppered the young constable with questions. 

"Where's Fraser? I gotta talk to him. He workin' now? I need him to come somewhere with me. Is the Ice -- I mean, is Inspector Thatcher here? Is Fraser gonna be able to leave right away, or do I hafta come back later?" 

Turnbull, in his typical easily flustered way, was attempting to answer the detective by interrupting him. The commotion drew Constable Fraser from Inspector Thatcher's office. 

"Ray!" Fraser exclaimed. "It's good to see you. What brings you here in the middle of the day?" 

"Sir, it appears the detective requires some assis-" Turnbull began, but Ray cut him off. 

"Welsh gave me a new case. I got nothin' to go on, no description, it's a, uh, kind of touchy case. The victim is still in the hospital. I was wondering if you could, uh, well, talk to the victim. You're, like, better at that sort of thing than me. I got the 'kick 'em in the head' thing down, but I need your, uh..." 

"Lighter touch?" the Mountie finished for him, smiling slightly. 

"Yeah, lighter touch," Kowalski repeated, grinning at the way Fraser read his mind. The grin faded slightly, as he regarded Fraser seriously for a moment. _No, no, this is not the time to be thinkin' about that_ , he said to himself. But he flushed anyway, looking away and shifting his shoulders in his coat. 

Fraser, too, looked at Ray Kowalski a little longer than necessary. He sighed inwardly, looking over to Turnbull, wondering if the other Mountie noticed anything untoward. But Turnbull, oblivious as ever, merely looked from Fraser to the detective, a worried expression on his face. 

"You're leaving, sir?" he asked Fraser. 

"It's almost the end of the day, Turnbull. If you don't mind." 

"Well," Turnbull began hesitantly. 

"Great," Kowalski interrupted, grabbing Fraser by the arm and dragging him to the door, "Fraser really appreciates this, Turnbull, and so do I, and so does Lieutenant Welsh, and we'll be sure and mention your sacrifices so that you get credit for assisting us," Ray babbled, propelling Fraser ahead of him as he talked over his shoulder to the hapless Turnbull. 

"Ray. Ray. Ray. RAY." Fraser resisted, digging in his heels. 

Ray bumped straight up against Fraser, thwacking his turning head on Fraser's. "Ow!" he said, as they bounced off one another. "What, Fraser." 

"My hat," Fraser began. "And coat." 

"Right," Ray replied, rubbing his temple where he'd smacked it into Fraser's. The Mountie made his way back behind the worried Turnbull, ancient oak desk, and into the Inspector's office. He returned quickly, Stetson on, shoving his arms into the navy pea coat. 

"Covering up the ol' Big Red suit, eh?" Ray chided him. 

"Nonsense, Ray. It's cold out, and night is falling. And this is Chicago. Although, in comparison with the Yukon, this sort of weather is..." 

"Right up there with the lichen from these parts, not as tasty," Kowalski finished for him. "C'mon." 

"Right you are," the Constable agreed, and they both stepped out, puffs of breath disintegrating in front of their faces as the Mountie pulled the door shut behind him. 

\--- 

"Okay, here's the deal. There's a slicer, a nasty slicer, and he's preyin' on the young and homosexual. They got a victim who got away, who we gotta get a good description from. The perp's MO matches the MO of an unknown who's knocked off a few homeless guys over the past few years. 

"Remember those guys who kept turning up, with their, uh, crotches slashed, bled to death by the big artery in the thigh? Well, this victim says that's what this guy tried to do to him. In, uh, in an, uh, intimate moment..." Ray trailed off, uncertain of how to broach the subject with the Mountie -- both because of its unsavory and squeamish topic, and because of his tightly clamped feelings, which threatened to swirl up and mix into an unpleasant and unsettling miasma in the forefront of his brain. 

"During oral sex," Fraser spelled it out for him. Ray swiveled his head to look at the placid Mountie sitting next to him. The Canadian would never cease to amaze him. 

"Yeah, how'd you know? The murdered guys obviously couldn't tell us that, and I haven't told you what the victim's story is yet." 

"An educated guess," Fraser merely replied, looking away from those too-blue eyes pinned on his. Kowalski looked back through the windshield. 

"I knew that," he said offhandedly. But he wondered... how much Fraser knew of such things. Of such things between men. _Well_ , he thought grimly, _I guess I get to find out. And hope he doesn't find out it's been on my mind._

They drove in silence the rest of the way to Rush Presbyterian Hospital. 

\--- 

The victim, it turned out, hardly looked like a victim at all. He was a strapping man, well muscled and lying in his hospital bed shirtless. Tanned and fit, he looked nothing like the sadly dirty and lean -- from drugs, from poverty -- young homeless men who'd been found with their inner thighs shredded over the past several years. Kowalski began to doubt that the perps were one and the same the minute they stepped into the victim's room. 

Ray threw himself into one of the chairs. An old man lying in the other bed in the room snored as his television blared. Fraser stepped quietly between the beds, and drew the curtain between the two patients. Kowalski sat up and flashed his badge. 

"Detective Kowalski, Chicago PD. This is Constable Fraser, RCMP. He's my partner. Don't ask. We'll explain later." 

Fraser looked startled. "Ray, I--" 

Ray sent him one of those looks, alternating icy and pleading, and he shut up. Turning to the patient, he said quietly, "And you are...?" 

Two _new_ ice blue eyes turned to him. "Daniel." 

Kowalski stirred, leaning forward to prompt "Daniel WHO?", but at the slightest flinch on Fraser's part, decided against it and sat back again. Fraser kept his face neutral and blank, but he was frankly astonished at the resemblance between Ray and Daniel. True, from the neck down, Daniel was quite a bit more physically developed -- so far as Fraser knew, anyway; he'd never actually seen Ray naked, other than in that dream -- he slammed that door shut in his mind. 

But in terms of expression, eye and hair color, facial bone structure -- even the impression he got of how this man Daniel carried himself, when he was walking, seemed very like Ray Kowalski. The hair -- not entirely spiky, but somewhat flattened, as if from sleep. The icy blue eyes. The lips, with the lower lip roughly twice as thick as the upper lip. (Fraser hadn't even realized he'd known that.) High cheekbones. A certain steely fragility. Or was it fragile steeliness? Except in this case, that fragility was mitigated by the bulk of the man's well muscled chest and arms. 

Kowalski listened and watched intently. If he didn't know otherwise \-- if he didn't know he was _crazy_ \-- he would have thought Fraser was attracted to this guy Daniel. The intent way they looked at each other -- the way Fraser's eyes searched the man's face -- Ray had seen Fraser's "soft touch" before, but this had never been part of it, that he could recall. 

The Mountie cleared his throat then. "Alright, then, Daniel," he continued calmly, "as Detective Kowalski has already informed you, I'm Constable Benton Fraser. We'd like to talk to you about what happened to you, what the suspect looked like, and any other details you can remember which you think might be of help in tracking down and catching the man who put you in here. What do you say?" 

"Is this on the record?" Daniel asked cautiously, looking from the calm and friendly face of the Mountie to the decidedly more... steely expression of the detective. 

Fraser looked from Daniel to Kowalski. Not daring himself to speak, Ray simply shrugged. The constable turned back to the good-looking man. 

"If you don't want it to be on the record, it won't be," Fraser said quietly. 

"I got my reasons. You don't understand what this could do to me if it came out. My job -- I --" 

__

If only you knew how I did understand, thought Fraser, but he interrupted gently and said only, "I understand and if this must be off the record, consider it in the strictest confidence which will not be violated." 

The man sighed with relief. "Okay, look. I don't do this that often." 

__

Uh-huh, Ray thought to himself. _Right_. But he said nothing. 

"I was just going into the Anvil for a drink. I used to go there a long time ago with my -- I just used to go there a lot before, and I haven't been there in a few years, so I thought I'd stop in for a drink and see if things were still the same." 

Ray wondered what Daniel had been expecting to be the same. Fraser nodded, encouraging Daniel to continue. 

"Okay, so I go in there, and there's the usual bunch of old fags from the neighborhood, a few construction workers, a couple guys who looked like off duty cops, and a couple young guys playing pool. No one looks like they're cruising, so I get a seat at the bar, not too close to anyone, but not too far. It's dark in there, that's the way it's always been. So I'm not paying much attention when this other guy comes in, when I'm just finishing my first beer. I get up to go to the bathroom. When I come back, this guy is next to where I was sitting. Having a beer." He paused. 

"Please, go on," Fraser said. Ray sat forward, elbows on knees, his chin in his hands. Listening. Just listening and picturing it in his mind. "So I go back to my bar stool, and I wonder if this guy is gonna try to pick me up. And I'm kinda hoping not, because I have stuff to do. But I'm kinda hoping, yeah, because I'd like to know ... you know, that I still got it, that I'm still hot enough to get offers." 

Kowalski almost winced at this. _Sheesh_ , he thought. _I thought I was insecure_. 

"So I sit down and ask for another beer. And when the bartender comes over and asks me if I want the same thing, this guy says, 'This one is on me' to the bartender. So I take a look at him." He paused again. 

"And?" the Mountie inquired, his eyebrows lifting. "What did this man look like?" 

"Well, to be honest," Daniel said slowly, looking from Fraser to Ray and back through lowered lashes, "He looked a lot like you." 

"Eh-excuse me?" Fraser stuttered, truly surprised. 

"Not _exactly_ like you. But he did look a lot like you. He had dark hair, he had dark blue eyes, he had a strong jaw--" 

Ray looked at Fraser, and saw the slow creep of pink from the collar of his red suit to his hairline. He smiled inwardly. 

"-- and he had a good build." 

Fraser shifted on the edge of the man's bed, thoroughly red now. "Please, go on," he managed to say, clearing his throat. A quick glance at Ray revealed the detective's amusement at his embarrassment. 

"Wait a minute," Ray began. "So this guy looked a lot like Fraser here... but did he look _just_ like Fraser?" 

"No. He just looked similar." 

"You get the feeling this guy might've been a cop?" Ray asked. Daniel considered this, but then shook his head. 

"No. He didn't have that cocky kind of attitude." Fraser found this amusing. Ray did not. 

"Go on," Ray said, glaring just slightly at Fraser's innocent look over at him. 

"So anyways, I tell him thanks but I figure I'd better nip it in the bud, and give him a line like 'I'm with someone'." 

__

Hmmm, Kowalski thought, _so guys give guys the same lines girls give guys_. 

"But before I can say anything," the handsome Daniel went on, "he says to me, 'You're the best looking guy in here, you know that?' 

"So then I feel flattered and I say thank you. I get my beer, he pays for it, we're sitting there bullshitting, and I'm thinking, I should really get going, but it's nice to have that feeling that someone wants you, especially since ever since Ricky dumped me, I haven't been able to get anything but offers for head in the bathroom from the guys who still haven't found anyone by the time they're closing the bars. So this feels pretty nice, just to flirt." 

Ray looked down, ashamed for thinking earlier that, right, this guy Daniel didn't do this that often, he was probably out every night hunting for dick. The story he was hearing now was not that of a veteran slut. The story he was hearing now was uncomfortably close to home. 

"So at one point I got up because they had last weekend's copy of the free Reader newspaper, and I wanted to see if this band was coming to play soon. I don't know if that's when he put something in my beer or not. But the few copies left were all incomplete -- the music section was missing from each one. So I went back to where I was sitting by this guy. 

"So then after a few beers, I'm kinda toasted, because I'm not used to this. And when I do go out, I usually go with friends, and Joe usually drives so I can get as wasted as I want and he makes sure I get home okay. So I have to piss again, and I get up to go to the bathroom. 

"And I realize I'm feeling something more than just drunk. I think he drugged me with something, but I don't know what. The beer tasted normal. So I don't know. Anyways, I go to the bathroom, and my knees feel like kinda rubbery, wobbly, like I can't be sure I can stand up for a long time. And I have to piss one of those really long beer pisses, so I go up to the urinal--" 

Ray chuckled in humorous recollection of his drinking days, but when the two pairs of eyes turned silently to him, he gulped and muttered, "Sorry," and waved at Daniel to continue. 

"-- and I hear the door. So I look over my shoulder and it's this guy. Well, I'm just about to shake it off anyway, and I'm toasted, so when he steps up behind me and puts his hands on my hips, I'm not bothered. In fact I start to-- well, anyway, so he's, uh, he's pressed against me, and he's whispering in my ear that we don't have to go anywhere, we can do it right here, and I'm saying, No we can't..." 

Fraser looked down, only a slight motion of his head. He remembered a few heated moments like that in the Riv with Vecchio. He barely flinched, almost making a physical effort to thrust the memory away. It was enough for Kowalski, whose eyes were already growing while listening to Daniel's story, to make note of before returning his eyes to Daniel. 

"And so he says, Sure we can. There's only one stall in this bathroom, but there is a lock on the door _into_ the bathroom, too. So you can lock the bathroom from the inside, in addition to locking the stall. So this guy goes over to the door and locks it, and then he says, 'Now we can do it right here.' By this time I'm a little worried but I'm kind of, well, excited too, and he comes up close and looks right in my eyes and says, 'My name is Carl, what's yours?' and I stammer that it's 'Mike'. And his hand is, um, is in my pants and he's pushing them down and he's, um, he's got his other arm around my waist and he's moving me backwards against the locked door." 

Daniel paused and looked from the Mountie to the detective. Both of them were paying very close attention, with none of the typical uncomfortable grinning and juvenile grimacing you expected to get from cops. None of the usual homophobic mutterings. 

"And then?" Ray prompted, voice cracking. He looked away from Daniel then, at Fraser, and then at the bland flower painting on the wall. Fraser looked down at the blanket. 

"Then I'm like, well, I don't know, this might not be such a good idea, we could get in trouble for locking ourselves in here... and Carl says not to worry, he's done it before. He says all he wants to do is suck me off, I don't have to do anything but let him. Well, even though I'm kind of worried, that sounds pretty harmless to me, and I know it's a lot harder to catch something by _getting_ head, as opposed to _giving_ it, so I'm figuring, oh, what the hell, my pants are at my knees anyway. So I'm like, 'Well, maybe' and he slams me against the door rough-like, and kneels in front of me, and yanks my jeans all the way down to my ankles." 

Ray's sharp intake of breath was audible during Daniel's pause, broken only by the snores of the old man in the bed on the other side of the curtain. Fraser still looked at the blanket, but he wondered what expression was on Ray's face \-- one of disgust, one of horror? 

Had he looked up then, he'd have seen that Ray himself was blushing as a result of having looked away from the bland flower painting towards Daniel, just as Daniel looked at him in wonder at his loud gasp. That gasp of tension escaped Ray, despite his struggle to thrust away the excitement he felt while listening to the man's story. He looked up at the ceiling, closing his eyes. He couldn't look at Daniel. And he _couldn't_ look at Fraser, because if he did, the pictures he was making in his mind of Daniel and the Fraser-look-alike threatened to turn into pictures of himself and the real Fraser, and Fraser could never know that. 

"Anyways," Daniel continued slowly, looking down at his hands in his lap, "So he's kneeling in front of me, and he's, uh, going down on me, and I'm realizing this could go on forever because I'm really pretty drunk and I don't know if I can, um, come. So I start to tell him that I don't think I can come and he gets to his feet and clamps his hand over my mouth and tells me not to say anything, that he's not worried. 

"Only now he has this gleam in his eye, a nasty gleam, or maybe that's just the way I'm remembering it in retrospect, hindsight being 20/20. And his hand felt like iron, and he's still got all his clothes on. And I'm half naked and I'm realizing I couldn't get away if I wanted, because I can't walk, because my pants are around my ankles. So I shut up and lean back and this Carl guy, he goes back down on me, and he's doing a really good job, and I'm thinking, well, maybe this _won't_ go on forever--" 

Fraser cleared his throat as surreptitiously as possible, and shifted his weight. Images of Vecchio came to him unbidden, of glistening sweat, of lips stretched over his engorged organ, of the hiss of breath in between the strokes of those lips, that mouth, over and over and over... He could stand it. He _would_ stand it. He would have no reaction to listening to this. He was a professional. He pushed away thoughts of the dream of Ray. 

"So then I start telling him, you better, uh, better get ready, I'm going to, uh, well, some guys don't like to... and some guys do, but you never know, so I'm warning him if he doesn't want to, he better get his mouth off my cock pretty soon, and I reach for my cock with one hand and his head with the other, ready to push him off, and then he knocks my hand out of the way, and grabs both of them by the wrist, and he's holding them so tight the bones are, like, grinding together and hurting." 

Daniel unconsciously clenched and unclenched his fists. With a hitch in his voice he continued, "But that doesn't stop me, I mean, nothing could stop me then. And he goes all the way down, I mean, _all_ the way. And I can feel it as I hit the back of his throat, and that's it, I'm shaking at the knees and... And it feels so good. And then all of a sudden, I feel this hot wetness pouring down my legs, and I think, what, did he spit it out on me?" 

Daniel stopped, holding himself, and shuddering. He looked over at Fraser, almost ashamed. But the Mountie's sympathetic expression eased his discomfort. He shivered and sighed. Then he steeled himself and took a breath to continue. 

"So I open my eyes and look down, and he pulls his mouth off me and grins, and I see something shiny in his hand, and his grin is shiny and dark, and it's dark in the bathroom, but not that dark, and I realize the wetness pouring down my legs is my blood, and I start freaking, because it looks like its coming from my dick, and he steps back and I'm screaming by this point, and I don't know how he got out, there is a window in there..." Daniel paused, trying to control the shaking in his voice, the quivering of his shoulders. He would not look up at the Mountie or detective. 

"Next thing I know the lock is slipping in my hands because they're slippery with blood, and the guys from the bar are pounding on the other side of the door, and I finally twist the lock, and these guys bust the door down, and I'm thrown across the room into the sink and hit my back, and they look down at me, and someone yells, 'Call 911! Call 911!' and they drag me outta there, and two guys pick me up and throw me on the bar, and that's all I remember before I got here and the ER surgeon is telling me that it wasn't my dick, it was the arteries in both thighs, and I'm lucky I didn't bleed to death." He exhaled a long sighing breath, ducking his head. 

Kowalski could barely suppress his shuddering. He knew it was going to end this way, but it was still _mighty_ upsetting to listen to... especially because in his mind, it had started to be Fraser on his knees, and him up against he bathroom door... 

Fraser _did_ shiver, just slightly, and looked up, his face a careful mask of sympathetic neutrality. "You don't remember anything else about this man? No distinctive features? No tattoos, or scars?" 

Daniel shook his head sadly. "No. I told you, the only person whose clothes came off was me. He kept all his clothes on. He didn't even have his top button unbuttoned." 

Kowalski opened his eyes, looking over at Fraser. Fraser looked at him, and Ray realized Fraser was a button-up kinda guy, too. Then Fraser gave him that look of, _this may take a while_ , and began quietly questioning Daniel again. 

"He didn't have his top button unbuttoned. What kind of a shirt was it?" he asked the man. 

Daniel squinted and thought a moment. "It wasn't denim but it was blue. I'd say some kind of blue heavy cotton." 

"Dark blue, or light blue?" Fraser asked. 

"Looked like dark blue." 

Ray wiped his sweaty palms on his knees, and stood to stretch his bones and relax everything that had gotten more and more tense as he'd listened to Daniel's story. 

He leaned on the wall by the bland flower painting, looking down on Daniel and Fraser, every once in a while, throwing a question in himself. But it was all autopilot. His mind was in that dark bathroom, with the dark head of the Mountie moving up and down, mouth plastered onto his cock, his knees shaking with excitement, desire, and fear. 

Chapter 4: You Know the Drill  
   
  

"So that's it then? You got a perp that looks like Big Red, and a victim that looks like you?" Lieutenant Welsh barked, disbelieving. "That's great." He sighed from behind his desk. 

Fraser and Kowalski exchanged wary looks. Then Fraser spoke. 

"Lieutenant," Fraser began, pronouncing the title the British way. "We actually have a more detailed description than before, and we've also drawn some tentative conclusions about the suspect. May I, ah, continue?" 

"You may, Constable," Welsh conceded, raising his eyebrows. 

"The perpetrator apparently looks somewhat like me, that is, his physical type is about the same," Fraser began, flipping through the notes on his notepad. Ray took this as a cue that they would be here for a while, and threw himself down onto Welsh's vinyl couch. The Mountie stood before Welsh's desk, recounting the facts of the victim's statement. "He's tall and dark-haired, he was wearing a brown leather jacket, black jeans, and may have been wearing a blue and black plaid shirt..." 

Ray closed his eyes, letting Fraser drone on. He couldn't stop visualizing the scenario Daniel had described... especially the parts where he was up against the door with the perp giving him head. It bothered him that every time he closed his eyes, he saw the pictures his mind had made while listening to Daniel's story. But he had given up fighting it. 

He slouched on the vinyl sofa, watching the movie loop playing over and over on the backs of his eyelids. Once in a while, the perp became Fraser. Sometimes he himself became Daniel. He heard Welsh and Fraser's conversation as if from a distance, and felt himself far away, passive, not in control of anything. Not even the movie loop and the changing faces of the "actors". 

In fact, the last few times through, he had become Daniel, and the perp had become Fraser. But the loop cut off before any slashing -- thank God. He shifted listlessly, hearing the vinyl creak beneath him. The loop kept playing... in slower and slower motion each time. Like the movie projector was about to jam. 

"Are you with us, detective?" Welsh bellowed over him, and Ray jumped, so startled he almost fell off the couch. 

"Yes, sir," he stammered, sitting up. He looked up at the impassive Mountie and his glaring superior. "What were you saying?" 

"We were debating whether Daniel was drugged with Rohypnol, or if it was gamma hydroxy butyrate," Fraser said, smiling slightly at Ray's discomfiture. 

"Gamma hydro-what the...?" Ray replied, sitting up straight. 

"Liquid Ecstasy, Vecchio," Welsh said, and stepped back behind his desk to sit down. 

"I guess we'll know when we get the lab results from the hospital?" Ray said nervously. He looked away from Fraser, flushing. 

"As I was saying, there's some _paperwork_ to be filled out for that, _first_ , before you can get the results," Welsh said, irritated. "Forms. Bureaucracy. You know the drill." 

"Uh, right, sir, I'll get those forms filled out..." 

"And the victim will sign them?" Welsh queried Fraser. 

The Mountie nodded. "Next we should check through the unsolved cases whose modus operandi match that of the perpetrator of this crime. A look at the autopsy reports should give us more information about the victims. And possibly how the suspect chooses them." 

"Other than the fact that that is typical detective work our detective here should be doing _anyway_ ," Welsh glared at Kowalski, "what else is this going to tell us?" 

Fraser hesitated. "Well, sir, it could tell us whether or not he or I or both of us should go out to the types of establishments the suspect may frequent." 

"Yeah, we'll get real far in our uniforms and badges, Fraser," Kowalski interrupted, irritated. How could the Mountie not realize this? "Those kinda places are already wary of cops, 'cause Vice is always trying to bust 'em. They're gonna be real helpful to a couple more shields." 

"I didn't mean, go out as law enforcement," Fraser said, after a pause. 

For a moment, no one said anything. But then the full weight of what Fraser was saying hit Ray like an electric shock. He shot up from the vinyl sofa. 

"No way. NO WAY, Fraser," Ray began, pacing the narrow floor space, violently shaking his head. "There is NO WAY we are gonna go out there and pretend to be homosexuals. Aside from the fact that I don't feel like bein' bait, we'd never make one night without being fingered as cops. There's no way." 

But the lieutenant had fixed first the Mountie with a serious look, and then Ray. " _If_... the situation warrants it... and _if_ it turns out that there is a physical type of victim that the perp is preying on... and _if_ that type happens to look like you, then... yes, I think that could work." 

"Lieutenant!" Detective Kowalski practically wailed. "Nah, don't _do_ this to me! I can't do it. No way!" 

"Detective," Welsh said, heaving a sigh and pushing himself up from his desk, "try to remember we have women on the force doing the exact same thing, and I don't see them whining and crying about it." 

"Yeah, but they're being preyed on by the _opposite_ sex!" Ray fairly yelled. "Not the same sex!" 

"The point is, they're being preyed on. So they're in as much danger as you would be, if not more because they're women." As Kowalski threw up his hands in frustration, Welsh tempered his stern tone. "Do the foot work first. Find out about those unsolveds first, I don't care if you have to exhume bodies or find next of kin. Then we'll worry about the possibility of you being cute in leather later." The lieutenant nodded at Fraser. He nodded back respectfully. Welsh exited in search of sludgy coffee and Francesca. 

Ray threw himself back onto the sofa, not looking at Fraser, but at the ceiling. "What have I done to deserve this, Fraser. Tell me what I did," he moaned. But he closed his eyes, afraid to even look at the Mountie. He absolutely could _not_ show what he was _really_ afraid of. 

"Ray, we still have a lot of investigating to do before we will know whether or not this would be a useful avenue to pursue. I don't see why you're getting so upset," Fraser said casually, looking down at Welsh's desk, on which he sat. 

"Because, because... oh, nevermind! You wouldn't understand!" He threw an arm over his eyes, embarrassed. God. What the hell was he gonna do? This could _not_ happen, simply could not. Ray knew he would be too curious and interested to hide it, and yet too scared to go through with anything. And if Fraser was anything like the Fraser from his dream, he would know too -- without Ray saying a word about it. 

The Mountie looked over at Ray sympathetically. "Ray. Ray. Ray. RAY." 

"What, Fraser," came the muffled reply from under the arm covering Ray's face. 

"Let's see if Francesca can find records for the unsolved murders. If they were homeless, there's a good chance they had some kind of record, even if it was disorderly conduct or vagrancy. If they have records, there should be mug shots. And mug shots will tell us whether you need to worry, or not." 

Ray sighed heavily, his chest rising and falling. "Right. Okay." But he did not move. 

Fraser stood up and stretched his legs, a little bit ashamed that he had suggested the two of them go out to the bars as patrons rather than cops. He could not understand what had compelled him to do it, although now, it seemed a fairly logical plan, depending what the victims of the unsolveds with matching MOs looked like... but he was curious. He pushed that thought away. No, he was not curious. He was merely trying to catch a would-be -- or experienced -- killer. Curiosity had nothing whatsoever to do with it. (Did it?) 

Ray sat up, running his hands through his hair, so that it stood up even more. Fraser tugged uncomfortably at the collar of his serge uniform. 

"Okay. Francesca. Let's go check with her," Kowalski said resignedly, and the two stepped out of Welsh's office back into the noise of the precinct. 

\---- 

Three hours later, having tracked down five of seven unsolveds via their criminal records -- petty theft, grand theft auto, disturbing the peace, drunk and disorderly, one assault and battery -- it had become apparent to both of them that, in fact, the one thing all the victims had in common (other than homelessness) was a certain slight, dishwater blond look to them, although some had long hair and some had short hair. All were white males. Most had light eyes. 

Fraser was terribly sorry he'd turned out to be right. It was beginning to look like they would have to go out to places like the Anvil, as patrons rather than as police. Running below the surface of his guilt for having gotten Ray into this predicament, though, was a slight excitement, borne of curiosity, fear, and... But he crushed that thought as Ray looked wearily up at him, as they both hunched around Francesca and her computer. 

"This looks bad, Fraser," Ray began. He hesitated. "I really don't wanna do this." 

"Do what?" Francesca asked 

"Nothin', Frannie," Ray cut her off, shaking his head imperceptibly at Fraser. 

Taking the cue, Fraser spoke. "Francesca, I wonder if you could do some research and get us the death certificates of these victims. We only had a list of names for unsolved homicides, death by exsanguination, male victims... but we need more details on how exactly they were killed. Could you do that?" 

"Sure, Frayzh!" Frannie eagerly smiled up at him. "So is this your latest case, Ray?" she continued, turning those big brown eyes on Ray. 

"Looks like it," Ray muttered, and stood up, adjusting his shoulder holster. "We're trying to figure out if these are related to an assault on a victim the other day. The perp's still at large. If he is the same guy who did these guys, it might justify more manpower for this investigation," he added, glaring at Fraser. _Yeah, Huey and Dewey should really be a part of this_ , Ray thought grimly. 

"Oh. Well, I'll see what I can find. Should I fax it to you?" she turned again to the Mountie, who was straightening his uniform and putting on his Stetson. Those liquid brown eyes peered up at him. Fraser sighed inwardly. "Call Ray before you do anything. We'll probably be together." 

Ray had to smile at that. Yeah, they did spend a lot of time together. In fact, most of his time off work was spent with Fraser, now that he thought about it. _Better not think about that just now..._ They walked out of the precinct, Ray trailing behind, shouldering into his trench coat. 

"I'll drop you at the consulate, unless..." Ray paused before he continued. 

"Ray." Fraser stopped. They were outside the doors now, in the back by the blue and whites. "I'm really very sorry I got you involved in this way. I just thought--" 

"Yeah, yeah. It's okay. Fraser. I guess this is probably the best way to catch the bastard," Ray wearily replied. But the Mountie looked serious. He took off his Stetson and fiddled with it, not looking at Ray, but addressing him. 

"I didn't really realize what a position I'd put you in until after I'd spoken. It hadn't occurred to me how upsetting it might be for you to, ah,--" 

"Yeah, yeah, _okay_ , Fraser," Ray interrupted. "Just tell me one thing." 

The Mountie looked up at him, and their eyes met. 

"Tell me you'll make sure nothin', uh, bad happens," Ray asked quietly. "Tell me you'll be there if anyone tries anything." His brow crinkled with worry and he unconsciously bit his lower lip, but his eyes went cold and flinty. 

The Mountie could only swallow and nod silently. Stricken, he hadn't realized that not only had he put Ray in a very uncomfortable position, but he had now placed at some risk those perfectly innocent \-- well, in a manner of speaking anyway -- men who might approach Ray without murderous or harmful intentions. He sighed. 

"I'll do my best, Ray." 

"Thanks, Fraser. Let's get goin'". 

\---- 

Later, at his apartment, Ray sat in the darkening living room, too tired to put his feet on the dance step patterns on the floor. His feet were up on the coffee table, his head cast back on the sofa, staring unseeing at the ceiling. 

Now that he had a chance to think about it, maybe it wasn't so bad. The worst thing was, how was he going to hide his curiosity from Fraser? Fear he didn't need to hide -- and he was afraid. Not of the physical danger, no. He was afraid that starting down this path might mean he was fated to, somehow. Fate was a concept that irked him. You made your own destiny. 

But it couldn't be true, anyway. There was Stella. There would always be Stella, even though she was not in his life anymore, and would never be in it again, at least not in the same way she was before. So that would make him, what... bi? _No, no, no_ , he turned that thought off. _You're straight. You've only had sex with women. Just pretending to be gay to solve a case does not make you gay. Even if you did anything, it wouldn't count because it would be in pursuit of the slasher. It wasn't like you'd be pursuing this in your regular life._

But he knew the only reason he wouldn't have pursued it in his regular life was because he was too cowardly. And because the only person who'd turned his head that way was his partner. And his partner was a man's man, a Mountie... who could never know and would surely be embarrassed and disgusted if he did. So if Fraser was not an option, at least Ray could maybe figure out if it was guys in general, or just Fraser. (But what if Fraser wasn't disgusted? What if Fraser...? But, no... what if he was wrong, and Fraser had never looked at him the way he thought he had? Then... he would still be embarrassed and disgusted. Wouldn't he?) 

Ray dozed fitfully. 

\--- 

The piercing shriek of his cell phone woke him, in his clothes, curled up on the same sofa the next morning. After fumbling in his jacket and almost falling off the sofa, he found the phone and flipped it open. 

"Yeah," he said, trying to shake the sleep off, trying to shake off a cozy warm dream with a warm smell of fresh-cooked bread in it. 

"Ray?" Frannie's voice came through the phone. "I got those death certificates for you guys." 

"Oh." Ray sat up completely, rubbing his eyes. "Yeah, and?" 

"Is Fraser there?" Frannie asked, somewhat more quietly. 

"No, Frannie, the man doesn't spend the nights at my apartment," Ray snapped. Then he wondered at what he'd said. Why had he said _that_? "We're not joined at the hip. It's just non-Mountie Ray here, without a red uniform," he added sarcastically, to cover his realization that it might actually be really nice if Fraser _did_ stay over sometimes. 

Problem was, the man didn't drink, at all, and the only way this sort of thing seemed to happen was when guys got drunk together and it was too dangerous for one to drive home. But then Fraser didn't even drive. _Whatever!_ He was really losing it now. 

"Well," Frannie said sullenly, "your deceaseds all got one thing in common, other than their criminal records. Death by exsanguination." 

"Frannie, we _knew_ that. You're not telling us anything we didn't know. Now--" 

"Death by exsanguination caused by deep cuts to the femoral arteries," Frannie finished. 

Now Ray sat up straight, wide awake. "You're sure about that?" 

"Sure as I am the sun's gonna come up tomorrow." 

"All right. All right, then, thanks Frannie. That's exactly what we needed to know." 

"So what do I do with these copies of death certificates?" Frannie pestered him. 

"Uh, just hang onto them for now. Let me get ahold of Fraser and we might be comin' over to pick 'em up," Ray said, and then hung up. So it was the same bastard, or so it seemed. The hunt was on. He shivered suddenly, remembering that he was supposed to be the bait. Then he picked up the phone to call Fraser. 

Chapter 5: Admittedly Peculiar Behavior  
   
  

"How did you find that out?" Ray asked, irritated. 

The Mountie's voice came through the cell phone. "I simply called up Daniel and asked him the type of establishments he frequented, when he went out to drink." 

"Great, Fraser. So we're not just going to gay places, we're going to straight places?" 

"Not, strictly speaking, 'straight' places, so much as 'mixed' places... a high percentage of gay clientele, with a significant 'alternative' straight population," Fraser continued, his tinny voice buzzing in Ray's ear. "Or so Daniel described it." 

"You do realize that a couple of those places are dance clubs, Fraser, don't you?" 

There was a long pause on the cell phone. 

"Fraser? You there?" Ray prompted. 

"Yes, Ray. So dancing will be required?" 

"No, probably not... there's always a bunch of people who just leer at the dancers, from the sidelines," Ray teased. 

"Now, Ray, I would never--" 

"I know, I know. If anyone would leer it would be me. Listen, hang on and I'll be there shortly." 

"Right you are, Ray," the Mountie replied. "I'll see you when you arrive here." 

"Right," Ray said, hanging up the cell phone and tucking it into his inner jacket pocket as he drove. He was feeling better -- somewhat -- about the whole plan. Still apprehensive about being the bait for the slasher, he was comforted somewhat by knowing that he would at least be able to "fit in" marginally with his excellent dancing ability. He wondered what it would be like to be picked up, as opposed to trying to pick someone else up... wondered if it were true, what Daniel had said went on in the bathrooms sometimes... He wondered many things, as he drove, his mind restlessly flitting from thought to thought, never pausing on one long enough to truly examine it. He drove on towards the Consulate, trying not to wonder how Fraser danced -- with another person. 

\--- 

Constable Benton Fraser sat at the front desk, staring at the paperwork in front of him, and not seeing it... for the umpteenth time tonight. He shook his head, looked up, and then stood, stifling the desire to stretch and yawn. Yet he felt restless. Not normally inclined to examine his own thoughts very much, it had begun to occur to him in the past couple of hours that he was rather more emotionally invested in this case than he would normally have been. 

He pulled his suspenders off his shoulders, shoving his hands deep in his pockets, and pacing in the hallway before the stairway. _Ray_ , he thought. But it was a thought disturbingly schizophrenic: there was Ray, and then there was Ray. He sighed, pausing in his stride. 

Ray Vecchio... the real Ray Vecchio... he had no way to ask his advice. No way to contact him. No way to beg forgiveness for his admittedly wanton thoughts. Thoughts he tried desperately to suppress, but which came out at odd times and appeared to be unconsciously motivating his suggestions about this investigation. 

And then there was the Cover Ray Vecchio, Stanley Raymond Kowalski. Admittedly rough-edged, his initial impersonation of Fraser's real Ray was both disconcertingly affable, unpredictable (at least with the criminal element), and wholly unlike the real Ray Vecchio. Yet he inspired unexpectedly tender feelings in Fraser, especially at his easy-going acceptance of Fraser's bizarre attempts to gather evidence proving that he was not the real Ray Vecchio. Ray Kowalski appeared to have a tough outer shell. But that only masked the sensitive man underneath. The man had endeared himself to Fraser, without even realizing it -- and in ways Fraser knew he could never reveal. 

He still chastised himself for his occasional nitpicking of Ray Kowalski. Especially considering the detective was shot while attempting to save Fraser from Greta Garbo, the copy-cat performance arsonist who had been trying to eliminate both Fraser and Vecchio (not realizing the real Vecchio had gone deep undercover with the mob earlier that year). Such a selfless gesture, and what was Fraser's thanks? To always be correcting Ray. To be trying, essentially, to make him into something he was not. This was somehow more fundamentally wrong with Kowalski than with the real Vecchio. Perhaps because Kowalski seemed cockier on the surface, but was actually more insecure. 

And then there was the deep well of loss and uncertainty where Ray Vecchio's undercover assignment was concerned. The goodbye... so Ray hadn't been able to speak freely, but... so much left unsaid. And so much left unexplained -- such as _why_ he took the assignment in the first place. _Why_ would he leave Fraser alone again, out of his element (though somewhat more acclimated since he'd first come to Chicago)? It wasn't even being out of his element so much as being left all alone again that most bothered Benton. He shoved that down, deep inside, trying to contain a gnawing fear that Ray would never return, would find another... 

__

No. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, he thought. _There are many others whose situations are much worse. Ray will be fine. He will do well. And he will come back_. But still a tiny element of fear darted just under the surface of those thoughts. Fear of being abandoned yet again. And swimming in the darkness Benton Fraser contained inside himself, swimming and occasionally crossing paths with that fear, darted an excited dawning awareness. A sensation not unlike an itch -- with Ray Kowalski's name on it. His dream about the Rays (the real and the cover Vecchios)... He knew that was only his unconscious wish for Ray's permission (as if that would be all it took!) to pursue Kowalski. Should those two darting thoughts meet up -- but, no. _No time to think of that now. Steady on_. 

He sighed, and began walking again. This time he walked to his room, and slipped in, going straight to the closet. He opened the door. "Dad," he whispered, peering into the shadowy back of the closet. He stepped in, shutting the door behind him. He moved to the back of the closet, encountering the back wall. But of course. Only at the most inopportune times would his father appear with advice. He sighed. "Dad!" he whispered more loudly, exasperated and worried. 

"Fraser, you in there?" came a muffled question from outside. The Mountie sighed, rolling his eyes in the darkness. _No wonder Ray thinks I am, as Ray says, unhinged._ Ray frequently found Fraser in the most ridiculous situations, with no valid explanation for his admittedly peculiar behavior. 

"Yes, Ray," Fraser said, a note of forced cheerfulness in his voice, as he turned and opened the door of the closet. "You entered the usual way, I hope?" 

Ray Kowalski peered into the closet quizzically, waving a credit card in explanation of his silent entry into the Consulate. "Fraser, what the hell are you doin'--" 

"Well, Ray, I--" 

"Never mind, Fraser, I don't think I want to know," Ray replied, pulling the Mountie out by the arm. Standing outside the closet, the detective's hand gripping his forearm, Benton Fraser froze slightly. He glanced down at Ray's hand on his arm. 

Ray glanced down at what Fraser was looking at, and then dropped Fraser's arm as if it was hot enough to burn. His cheeks pinked slightly; and Fraser felt the rising warmth in his own cheeks. He dropped his eyes. A brief flash of his dream Kowalski seized his mind's eye, that tousled head over his belly -- _Stop it_! Fraser commanded himself. _Just stop_. 

"So anyways," Ray continued awkwardly, walking away. "I hope you've polished your dancing shoes," he said, as he did a modified flamenco arm move in an attempt to recover his cool. "Cuz we're goin' dancing," he joked, snapping his fingers above his head. 

Fraser stood impassively behind him and watched as Ray slowly turned around to look at him. 

"Ray," he began slowly. "I'm truly apologetic about having suggested this course of action to Lieutenant Welsh. I just wasn't thinking. Perhaps we could approach him again, with a different plan. I had no intentions of endangering your life, but that's essentially what I've done," he confessed miserably. 

__

And because I was driven by -- driven by -- he didn't finish the thought, as dream images of a half-clad Ray Kowalski rose in his mind. He almost grimaced with shame as he pushed them back. 

"Fraser, what the...? Look, I know it's not safe, but is the job I do _ever_ safe? I mean, it's not like I'm a librarian you're leading into the underworld or somethin'. I am acquainted with the night life, although it isn't exactly the same _kind_ of night life we'll be exploring..." he trailed off. The Mountie just shrugged, embarrassed and looking down at the floor. Ray strode over to him, threw an arm around his shoulder and led him out into the hallway. 

"C'mon, Fraser, relax. As long as you're keeping an eye on me, I know I'll be safe," Ray began. Both men looked up at each other at that moment. At the same time Ray continued, "After all, you didn't let anything happen to me on the floating toxic waste dump..." 

As Fraser's worried blue eyes met Ray's soft pale eyes, Fraser felt the weight of Ray's arm around his shoulder. The comfortable pressure, the closeness and heat of Ray's body mixed with the coolness emanating off Ray's wool coat... and Fraser involuntarily stiffened. 

Ray felt Fraser flinch, and dropped his arm as if stung. His eyes reflected a slight pain, and then he looked away. _Oh, dear, oh, dear_ , Fraser groaned inwardly. _That isn't what I meant to do. Oh, Ray. I can't express myself. My God, what would you think_? He looked down at the carpet miserably. 

"Of course I will do everything in my power to maintain visual contact with you in every situation and ensure your safety," the constable said emphatically, his hands shoved deep in his uniform trouser pockets. 

"Right," Ray mumbled in reply, not looking at Fraser. "Although that might not always be possible. Or a good idea, if we actually want to catch this guy," he added doubtfully, looking up worriedly. 

"Really, Ray," Fraser said more intensely, looking at the man's spiky hair. At his mouth with that thin upper lip, that thicker lower lip. "At the very least, I shall remain within earshot, so all you would have to do would be to raise your voice." 

Ray raised his eyes and their gazes locked. _Will you_? his dubious expression seemed to say to Fraser. "To the best of my ability," Fraser added, stepping closer to Ray. He paused, looking down. He felt the heat between them, and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to regain his composure. 

"Sure, Fraser, I believe you," Ray said, uneasily stepping back from Fraser and striding out towards the foyer. "So let's get going. And get out of that uniform. We'll never get anywhere if they make you for a cop right away. At least _try_ to look like someone not always involved in do-gooder stuff," he tried to joke, somewhat lamely. 

He passed into the parlor off the staircase, and Fraser paused at the front desk, his shoulders sagging. This was certainly not an auspicious beginning to the assignment. He sighed inwardly, and then followed Ray to the entrance to the parlor. 

Ray had thrown himself down on a burgundy red sofa. He looked up at the paintings on the dark wood paneled walls. 

"I'll be ready shortly," Fraser said quietly. Ray turned his head to look over at the Mountie neutrally, and nodded. Fraser turned and exited, going back to his room to change clothes. 

\--- 

In the car, Ray began his worried patter. "We can't appear to be together, but I don't want you that far behind me. How `bout if I drop you off first, like in the alley?" 

"Where are we going first?" the Mountie asked, feeling naked without his serge and lanyard. In his indigo jeans and leather jacket, he felt self-conscious. 

"The Crow's Nest, I thought," Ray said, glancing at him. "No? It's one of those 'mixed' places. Figured we could, uh, ease into it that way?" he added, sheepishly. 

"Oh, of course. I was just wondering, not suggesting anything," Fraser stammered, reddening. 

"Too bad there was no Bulls game tonight, huh? Or we might see Rodman," Ray joked half-heartedly. "I hear that's where he likes to go after the home games, if they don't have another game the next day. And sometimes when they do." 

"Oh, really?" Fraser asked politely. But Ray could tell his thoughts were far from where they were, far from the car. 

"Yeah." They rode the rest of the way in silence. 

\--- 

Ray pulled up in the alley behind Kingsbury Street. "This is the weirdest area to put a club," he said, uncertainly. "It's all warehouses. I know it's a trendy area, ready for development, but... it's so deserted." 

"Except, of course, for the exotic dancing establishment a few doors down," Fraser pointed out. 

"Like that counts... that's just another sleazy place that can't be helping the real estate developers." 

"True enough," Fraser replied, shrugging. 

"All right. I'm gonna get out. You slide over and find a parking place. Assuming you find one within five minutes or five blocks -- unlikely, but it could happen -- give me a good fifteen minute head start, so I'm already kind of mingling when you come in," Ray said, turning to look at Fraser. "But, uh, don't be _too_ late," he added more quietly, with a worried expression. "Just, uh, maintain your distance, right?" 

Fraser saw Ray's brow wrinkle -- five parallel lines punctuated by eyebrows. He stifled a sudden and inexplicable urge to smooth Ray's brow, and nodded, swallowing. "I won't be too late," he said roughly, over the sudden dryness in his throat. 

"Okay." Ray opened the door, and a cold blast of air penetrated the warmth of the car, enervating Fraser. Ray slid out, and Fraser slid over. Ray hung on the open car door, looking around the alley. He seemed reluctant to leave. 

"Okay, Fraser, here goes," he said finally, letting go of the door, and running his hands through his hair, to make it stand up further. "I'm heading out." 

He gave Fraser one last glance, an unreadable mixture of \-- what? Fear? Hostility? Shame? Fraser had only a split second to observe Ray's expression before the detective was striding away. Down the alley, he was silhouetted in the bright bluish white street light meant to deter vandalism and graffiti artists. Ray's shadow turned the corner and was gone. Another blast of cold wind blew in the door before Fraser slammed it, put his seat belt on, and put the car in drive. 

He had finally found a parking place -- about three blocks away. Remarkably, nearly every place that wasn't a loading dock or loading zone -- which were surprisingly numerous, but then probably not, considering it was a manufacturing and warehouse district west of the river's north branch -- was taken up by the many cars parked around the club. 

Fraser walked to the club, the collar of his leather jacket turned up to ward off the gusting wind. Surprisingly (to him), there was a line of people -- between fifteen and twenty, he estimated -- standing behind a velvet cord. Ray was up at the very front of the line. Their eyes met briefly. Then Fraser dropped his, and stepped to the back of the line. Two very large bouncers stood in front of the door, with the roped off line to their right. A laughing couple burst out the double doors of the club, and the loud, pounding music came out with them. Just as suddenly, it was muffled as the doors banged shut. One of the bouncers made his way down the line, behind the couple. With a cell phone pressed to his ear, he checked out the people waiting in line. 

"Uh-huh. Right. Sure, no prob," he was saying. Then he passed Fraser and barked, "You!", pointing at Fraser. Fraser was so certain the man was speaking to someone behind him, that he actually turned around to see who the bouncer was talking to... only to see the wall of the club. "Yeah, you," the bouncer repeated as Fraser looked back at him, perplexed. The man jabbed a finger at Fraser, and beckoned. "C'mon." 

"Sir?" Fraser said politely. 

"Dude, you wanna come in, or what?" the bouncer asked, exasperated. 

"Oh, certainly," Fraser said, blushing. The crowd behind him tittered slightly. 

"Then come with me." Into the phone he said, "I gotta go," and hung up. 

"Right you are," Fraser said, wondering. The bouncer unhooked the velvet rope at the section Fraser was in, to let him out. Fraser stepped out, the bouncer cordoned the line off again, and followed Fraser up to the door. 

"Fifteen bucks," the second bouncer said. "Let's see your ID." 

Fraser dug out his wallet, and realized with a shock that he had only ten dollars in it. _Darn it_ , he thought. _I left my hat at home_. He said, "Ah..." 

"Look buddy, got the ID or what?" 

"Um," Fraser said, digging out his passport, and handing it to the bouncer, who had by now been joined by the second bouncer. The two bouncers glanced curiously at Fraser, as Fraser gulped and looked around behind him, glancing at Ray. Ray was close enough to have heard the entire exchange. 

"Show us the money, dude," the bouncer said, handing Fraser his passport back. 

"Well, sir, that's what I was about to--" 

"Hey, dude," came a familiar voice from behind the velvet rope. "Here, man," said Ray, leaning over the rope with another ten dollar bill. The bouncers looked at Ray, then at Fraser, then grinned at each other. 

"That's subtle," the bouncer on the right said to Ray, who flushed. Fraser turned and took the money. 

He hesitated. "Thank you," he finally said, looking up quickly at Ray, who looked away. Benton turned quickly back to the bouncers. He handed them the two ten dollar bills. 

"Nah, give it to the girl inside," the bouncer waved away the money. "You want your Good Samaritan pal to come in wit' you, fellah?" he grinned. 

"Ah--" 

The bouncer stepped around Fraser and unhooked the rope. He gestured to Ray to get out of line and come to the door. Ray stepped forward, looking shyly at Fraser with a sidelong glance. "Thanks, man," he said to the bouncer, handing over a twenty. 

"No, no, give it to the girl inside," the bouncer said, opening the door for them. They stepped into a blast of sound and heat, darkness split by flashing color. The door shut behind them. 

"Ray, I thought we were supposed to look like we came separately," Fraser began as they approached a bored girl on the bar stool by the tall cocktail table. Another tall, muscled man with long hair stood behind her, warily watching Fraser and Ray. She took their money and inked her rubber stamp with an ink pad next to her cash box. They each got five dollars in change and the backs of their hands stamped in black with what looked like a cow. 

Chapter 6: How Soon To Follow?  
  

So far Ray had said nothing. But as they made their way down the dim hallway, Ray raised his voice to compete with the music. 

"Well, Fraser, you needed the money. And, hell, they weren't making you stand in line. Unlike me. Must be the Canadian good looks and charm, huh? I wasn't expecting it to be like Studio 54 -- you know, only the beautiful people get let in." He sounded vaguely upset. 

"Ray, I had no idea--" 

"Oh, I know. I believe you." 

"Then why won't--" 

"Oh, just forget it. Now just pretend you're _not_ with me," Ray said as they neared the archway into the club. He strode forward faster, increasing the distance between Fraser and himself. 

Fraser slowed down and let Ray get far ahead of him. The flashing lights and pounding music were already a bit much, to him. And they weren't even in the club proper. 

Fraser got to the archway and Ray was gone. To the right, a dimly lit bar. To the left, a miniature street lamp. A girl stood under it, next to a tub of ice stuffed with beer bottles. Directly in front, a few yards away, was the dance floor. Fog poured down from what looked like a catwalk. Fraser looked up to realize there were male and female dancers on the catwalks, barely clothed. He nervously looked away, back down to the bar on the right. 

A bevy of strong-looking young white men in muscle t-shirts regarded him from the closest corner of the bar. He swallowed nervously, recognizing that he was getting the once-over from five pairs of eyes. He stepped to the left, just to be nearer the beer girl. Where was Ray? But he must let Ray mingle. 

He looked forward to the dance floor. There was an incredible mix of people. All races. All kinds of hair styles, including no hair, spiked hair, and big hair. Women who looked like boys. Men who looked like women. Women who looked very feminine. Men who looked very masculine. In close embraces with feminine women, or with other very masculine men. The entire crowd moving in rhythm to the music, like a hive of people. _Dancing_ , Fraser thought, _dancing their communications to each other like bees_. He had never seen such an assortment of people together in one place \-- except when that diplomat's daughter had led him on that wild goose chase. 

And then there was Ray. Already on the dance floor. Dancing by himself, eyes closed. Fraser's heart contracted. _Poor Ray_. Fraser realized now, looking at all the people around him and on the dance floor, that he hadn't had to wait in line because... he was very attractive. At least according to the current social standard. And all of these people were too. 

__

The beautiful people, he thought. _And I was picked as one of them. Right away. And Ray was not. And why not? He's as beautiful as any of these people. More beautiful.  He would have waited in that line even longer, if he hadn't contributed the money for my cover charge. Ray must feel -- well, it must not have felt very good to be looked over -- and passed over._

Fraser looked down at the stamp on the back of his left hand, feeling guilty. He tried not to make use of his looks, tried not to take advantage of the benefits. But here it had happened without him even trying. He sighed, looking up for Ray again. But Ray was gone from the dance floor. 

Fraser turned. _Fine, time for a beverage_. And to find Ray. But as he strode to the bar -- trying to ignore the men who followed him with their gazes -- he realized that Ray was at the far corner of the bar, in an even darker corner of the club, if that were possible. Beer in hand. Fraser stepped to a safe distance midway between the group of men who were still eyeing him, and Ray. One man was speaking to the skinhead bartender. Fraser rested his hand on the bar. The bartender came up to him, and Fraser noticed the lip and eyebrow pierces for the first time. 

"What'll you have?" the bartender bawled over the music, leaning over the bar. 

"Ah, Coca-Cola," Fraser yelled back. 

"And what?" the bartender asked. 

"Just Coca-Cola." 

The bartender raised an eyebrow and shrugged. Looking back towards the man he'd just been speaking with, he grabbed a tall glass, filled it with ice, and grabbed the spigot. It filled quickly with the soda, being mostly ice. The bartender slapped a coaster down in front of Fraser, and put the drink down on top of it rather heavily. 

As Fraser brought out his wallet to pay, the bartender shook his head, pointing to a man on Fraser's right, of the group of men in muscle-T-shirts. A dark haired man with trimmed goatee and mustache nodded at Fraser. Fraser nodded towards the man, and took at sip of the Coca- Cola. He felt vaguely embarrassed, having a drink bought for him -- and a non-alcoholic one at that. 

Ray, he discovered, was fortunately not without his own patron. The bartender had already gone to a man standing near the goateed man, and then moved along to Ray, saying something as he leaned over the bar. 

Fraser dropped his eyes, then turned to look onto the dance floor, his elbow still resting on the bar. He tried to affect a nonchalant and bored air. This was not entirely successful, as he gave off the air of a sleeping cat whose ears move in the direction of any sound... (and therefore isn't really sleeping at all). 

A swift look back confirmed that Ray had gotten a beer from someone in the group of muscle men. The detective raised his beer towards the man in thanks, before taking a sip. Fraser squelched the urge to follow closely all the moves of the men at the bar behind him, including his partner. He picked up his Coca-Cola and sipped at it nervously. When he turned around to the bar, eyes on the ashtray, he glanced up quickly at Ray. One of the muscle-T men was standing next to him. 

Their heads were together. _They must have to yell to hear each other_ , Fraser thought. _That's why their heads are so close together_. At that moment, Ray turned his head back towards the bar, and saw Fraser watching him. The other man said something right in Ray's ear, to which Ray responded with a wry grin. Something about the intimacy of the interaction raised Fraser's blood pressure just slightly. Ray slid his eyes away from Fraser's. The Mountie noticed the detective drumming the fingers of his right hand nervously on the bar. 

He turned away again. It would do no good to be picked out as law enforcement before the evening had even begun. The pulsating music and flashing lights on the dance floor -- not to mention the chemical smell of the fake fog -- were disorienting to Fraser. By sheer force of will he kept his eyes on the dance floor. But he barely saw the diverse collection of people, and paid even less attention to them. He felt uncomfortably as if he had hair only on the side of his body facing Ray-- and that it was all standing up. 

When he turned back to the bar again, he kept his eyes down and glanced sidelong at Ray. He found Ray and his companion downing the last of their beers and wandering off from the bar, towards the back of the club. They wandered around the periphery of the dance floor in the back. 

How soon to follow? The protective side of him said, _Right away_. But the strategist in him, the Mountie who knew the way one often had to play waiting games with criminals, said to wait. So he waited. He still had a couple sips of soda left. The tempo of the music had slowed to a throbbing slightly faster than the normal human heartbeat, and sounding surprisingly like it. He turned to the dance floor, only to be taken by surprise as he saw Ray and the unnamed muscular man dancing. 

They were dancing close to each other, but not together. Fraser unconsciously sighed in relief. But even as he did, the dark haired man extended a well-formed forearm and hand to Ray. He took Ray's hand and drew Ray's arm around his waist. Though Fraser felt his throat tighten unexpectedly, he forced his eyes to sweep the rest of the dancing crowd. A wide array of differing couples were doing almost the same thing, in various stages. Some men were already pressing themselves up against the backsides of their dance partners. Many of whom were male. 

There must be a club rule that some sort of shirt was required, because no one on the dance floor was shirtless. But "shirt" appeared to be very loosely defined. Some of the women's shirts were almost entirely see through. So were the mesh shirts of some of the men, and the thin, loose shirts with wide, sleeveless armholes that both men and women were wearing. 

Couples moved their pelvises and legs in undulating motions together. The seductive bumping and grinding made Fraser wet his bottom lip without realizing it. His strictly casual glance back to where Ray had been, revealed a sight even more jarring -- and exciting. And yet he flushed with anger when he saw it. 

The dark haired man -- with no goatee, unlike the purchaser of Fraser's drink -- held Ray to him, pressed against Ray's back. The detective's hands were on the man's forearms, rather than slightly behind him on the man's hips or on the tops of his thighs, as other men and women were holding their partners. 

But the man had his arms around Ray. One hand was slightly higher, on Ray's sternum. The other was slightly lower -- on Ray's belt buckle. Ray looked somewhat stiff, at least from the waist up. But he had his eyes closed and his head leaned back just slightly on the shoulder of his barely taller partner. The man pressed his lips against Ray's ear. Ray's head was slightly cocked, as if listening to something the man said -- though how Ray could possibly hear anything being whispered, in the deafening throb of bass and sinuous electronic music, Fraser had no idea. Another couple danced in front of Ray and the dark-haired man, and Fraser craned his head impatiently, waiting for Ray and friend to reappear. 

When the couple had danced out of the way, melding back into the crowd of writhing dancers, Fraser's chest constricted. Ray had his hands on the thighs of the man behind him. The man's hands were on Ray's hips. They moved as one, their hips swaying from side to side. Ray's head leaned fully back, his Adam's apple thrusting up from his throat. And the man's lips now obviously moved down the side of Ray's neck and around to his collar bone. Fraser suddenly found himself standing straight and tall on his feet, his soda drained. He uncharacteristically crunched an ice cube into smithereens, unmindful of the cold on his teeth. 

Just then the music began to change tempo again, to a more upbeat dance -- not grind -- rhythm. The sinuousness of the sound remained, changed slightly, whined and segued into a percussive sound of machinery. Guitars and electronics dropped in and then pulled out. Fraser watched Ray's dance partner lead him off the floor. Ray still shuffled his feet in rhythm, and they disappeared into the crowd on the opposite side of the dance floor. 

"Make the beats go farther," a woman's manipulated voice whisper-spoke to the beat of the music, "P-p-p-push it..." 

Fraser was moving now, alongside the dance floor, behind the patrons on high bar stools over looking the dance floor. He hadn't realized the platforms were gigantic speakers. The fog and lights must have obscured them. But now he noticed men and women dancing by themselves or with each other in apparently arbitrary couplings of same sex, opposite sex, three in a row. It was a most bewildering and startling vision, at which he tried not to stare. Fraser had thought he was well acquainted with most of the social interactions between males and females. But apparently Inuit social custom did not translate to the average young patrons of a mixed metropolitan dance club. 

Once on the other side of the dance floor, with no sign of Ray, Fraser began to worry. He looked around, on either side. There appeared to be bathrooms on either side and a back bar. The bathroom on the right -- from what he could see -- appeared to be a men's room. As he moved towards it, he was surprised to see women coming out of it. The fact that they were really men only registered after they were out of sight. 

But he walked in and there was a long, low mirror, dim lighting and an assortment of people. Few of them were obviously female, some engaged in kisses or embraces. They looked up at him briefly with sultry but detached curiosity, more concerned with the substances they were sniffing, the lips they were kissing, the hair they were stroking. The room smelled of sweat and leather -- there were a lot of people wearing black leather, some in quite interesting outfits. Feeling red-faced, he strode to the bathroom stalls and looked for Ray's shoes under the doors. But he saw no sign of them. 

Now he really began to worry. He fairly ran out of the -- apparently -- men's bathroom and squeezed his way through the thick crowd between the two bathrooms, the dance floor, and the back bar. Upon reaching the other bathroom, he paused, thinking it must be the men's room. But again, on striding through the door, it became apparent that the division of rest room facilities by gender was not something the club goers appeared very concerned with. 

There were women with some of the men in this bathroom, sitting atop counters with their boyfriends between their knees and thighs. Some all-male couples were similarly positioned. Fraser saw that all the light bulbs save two had been unscrewed, making it exceedingly dim in this rest room -- which he supposed was the point. He could barely see beneath the doors of the three stalls. The middle one was open, so he stepped into it. 

The pounding of the music on the dance floor dimmed as the outer door slowly eased shut. Fraser could hear whispers in one of the stalls next to his, but he couldn't be sure which one they came from. He stilled himself, took a few deep breaths, and then closed his eyes and listened hard. 

They came from the handicapped accessible stall next to his. He stifled an urge to climb up on the toilet and spy on the people in it. He already recognized one voice, though he could not understand what was being said. Soon he realized that he couldn't understand what was being said, because it was a quiet, incoherent, keening whisper. Coming from Ray. That sound was suddenly very distressing. 

That was it. He jumped up on the toilet seat, and peered over the thin metal wall between the stalls. There was Ray Kowalski, backed up against the door of the handicapped stall. His pants and briefs were loose around his lean thighs, which trembled. Ray's fingers clenched and unclenched in the black hair of the man he'd been dancing with. The man's face was buried in Ray's groin. His hands were hidden by the shadows and silhouette of his head, which stroked up and down over Ray's pelvis. The motion -- what they were doing -- Fraser didn't need to hear the slick wet sounds of the man's mouth to know it was moving swiftly back and forth over Ray's, over Ray's -- 

"My head explodes and my body aches... Make the beats go farther..." the female singer's amplified whisper reached Fraser dimly. "Come on push it, you can do it... Come on, prove it, nothin' to it... Come on use it, let's get through it.... Come on, push it, you can do it...." 

Just then, Ray's slitted eyes looked up toward the ceiling -- and suddenly popped wide open, upon seeing Fraser. His fellating friend must have sensed him stiffening, for he stopped what he was doing, and looked up at Ray. As the man slid his hands up Ray's sides from his hips, Fraser saw a dim flash of metal. 

He didn't bother to stay on the toilet seat. The Mountie jumped down and burst out of his stall, slamming into the door of the stall next to his. Both men were thrown against the opposite wall. 

Through a pinkish miasma, Fraser realized that he had the man by the throat, up against that wall, Ray frantically pulling at him, yelling something he couldn't understand; the man was yelling -- he himself was yelling, he realized belatedly, and didn't even know what he was saying. Ray finally succeeded in getting him off the man, but only long enough for Fraser to turn the man around, wrench an arm up behind his back and quickly frisk him with his other hand. 

Ray was yelling at him, and it sounded as if a small crowd had gathered behind them to watch the goings-ons in the handicapped stall. Fraser realized, from the hand he had savagely twisted up behind Ray's dance partner, that the man was wearing silver rings. Sterling silver rings. On three of the four fingers of the hand Fraser held. The flash of metal he'd seen when the man slid his hands up from Ray's -- it had been these rings. 

Ray slammed the door shut to afford them some privacy, and then dragged Fraser off the man who had, until recently, been performing oral sex on him. His jeans and briefs were pulled up but undone, the buckle and belt tail hanging loosely and shaking with the fury of Ray's shaking hands. 

"What the _hell_ are you doing?" he said to Fraser through tightly clenched teeth, holding Fraser up against the wall by the lapels of his jacket. Behind him the man leaned over, his hands on his knees, gasping and coughing. Fraser saw nothing but Ray's ice blue eyes and angry glower, his lips thin with anger, inches from Fraser's face. 

"I -- I saw a flash of metal, I thought he had" 

"What the fuck!!" interrupted the man behind Ray, now mostly recovered and furious. He whipped Ray around to face him. "Who's this, your jealous ex??" he spat, and Fraser saw the glint of a tongue piercing in his mouth. 

"No, man, he's just a friend," Ray tried to soothe him, hands up in an appeasing gesture. But the man would have none of it. 

"If you're just looking for drama, buddy, you're looking at the wrong guy, because one thing I don't want is drama," the man's dark eyes flashed angrily. "Are you coming, or what?" he added, panting and clenching and unclenching his fists as he stepped back. 

Ray was backed up against Fraser now, simultaneously protecting Fraser and holding him where he was. 

"Just gimme a minute," he said, trying a nervous smile on the dark eyes. 

"No fuckin' way. Either you come with me now, or you're with him. Take your pick." 

Ray held his ground, not moving forward and not moving back, breathing hard through his mouth. He dropped his eyes. 

"Fine," the man snapped, and shoved them both angrily out of the way to open the door of the stall. He stomped out, buckling his belt and straightening his t-shirt as he went. Fraser and Ray, thrown together against the wall across from the door, extricated themselves from each other, and Ray stepped across the stall to slam the door shut one more time -- to the disappointment of the gathered crowd -- and then swung around to confront Fraser. 

"What in the _hell_ was that, Fraser? I'm trying to" 

"Trying to what, Ray? You could have been killed! Don't you even _think_ before you" 

"You said you'd stay within earshot, not follow me and spy on everything I did! How am I supposed to 

"Well, with what he was \-- we know the suspect has -- " 

Ray slapped a hand over Fraser's mouth, closing the distance between them in one stride. "Shut up," he said in a furious whisper, "unless you want the entire nightclub to find out about our investigation and finger us as cops!" 

Fraser breathed heavily through his nose, staring into those pale blue eyes, no more than a couple of inches from his own. He felt Ray loosen his grip on his mouth, and gingerly reached up to pull Ray's hand off his mouth. 

Ray let his hand be pulled off, and took a half step back, looking down at the floor, shaking his head, and running that hand through his hair. 

"Fraser," he began as he looked up at the Mountie, about to carry on in a more subdued tone. But the look in Fraser's eyes took him completely by surprise, and he froze. 

The space between them, it seemed to Fraser (who wasn't thinking too clearly, he realized dimly in some far corner of himself), was filling with a quiet heat, an aura of closeness and intimacy. He didn't have to look to _feel_ that Ray's pants were still undone... Didn't have to touch Ray to know the man was erect, from the adrenaline and increased blood flow, from the fight-or-flight response -- 

The disorienting, throbbing music, dimly heard, and the graffiti strewn stall walls and door... All these things Fraser sensed in excruciating detail, though he only heard and saw them for a split second of peripheral sensation. Ray's half-guilty, half-hopeful expression was frozen on his face for a fraction of a moment. And then Fraser closed the distance between their  mouths and pressed his lips ardently against Ray's, before he thought better of it -- before he thought at all. 

Ray's mouth parted hotly under Fraser's and suddenly they were passionately entwined -- hands under shirts, in hair, stroking five-o'clock-shadow. Fraser's hip thrust against Ray's hard cock and his arms encircled Ray, sliding up the sweat-slick lean-muscled back under his hands. The tip of Ray's tongue fiercely entered Fraser's mouth, and then drew back. And Fraser pressed his own tongue into his partner's mouth, sliding it over the ridges of Ray's palate. 

And then they simultaneously realized what they were doing, and each froze. Ray's entire body stiffened; Fraser similarly went rigid. Ray slowly slid his hands down Fraser's chest and belly, withdrew them, and hitched up his pants. He pushed Fraser away as Fraser himself slid his hands off his partner. The Mountie's hands reluctantly released Ray's waist as the Chicago cop stepped back from him. 

They stood, a scant foot apart, panting, neither looking at the other, both looking at the floor. Ray silently buttoned his jeans, and the zzzzzzziz of his zipper and clanking of his buckle stirred Fraser out of his paralysis. He hardly knew what he'd just done. Sense-memory of the kiss overwhelmed him, and he barely found his voice to speak. When he did, it was in a ragged whisper. 

"Ray.... I... I'm so sorry. My God, Ray -- " 

"Fraser, shut up," Ray said, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. He took a step towards his partner, but his face was averted. Then his head inclined towards Fraser's until their foreheads met. With eyes cast down, he said, "Just shut up. Don't say anything else. I'm not sorry." 

It took Fraser a few heartbeats for that to sink in. 

"You're not?" he asked hesitantly. The only answer was the soft side-to-side motion of the forehead pressed to his. Ray shook his head in denial. Fraser dumbly stood stock still, shocked to his very bones. 

"To tell the truth..." Ray began hoarsely, and then stopped. 

Fraser inhaled, ready to babble in his typical fashion... except he found he had no ready responses. His head was empty. 

"To tell the truth, Fraser," Ray repeated in a whisper, "I've been wishing this would happen." 

The downcast eyes closed, and Fraser felt the man's entire physical presence change. A tenseness filled Ray. Tenseness mixed with wildness came through the press of that so-frequently-wrinkled brow against his own. His hands hung limply, dumbly at his sides. 

Tentatively the Mountie raised a hand. His eyes were open, looking at the nearby blur of Ray, not sure if Ray's eyes were closed or just downcast. Their only point of contact at this moment was the point where their foreheads met. Fraser closed his eyes, and let his hand go where he knew it would find Ray's angular jaw, his delicate temple, the bone under his eyebrow. He traced Ray's cheekbone with his thumb. 

With that one gesture, Ray leaned into Fraser, plunging his face into the space between Fraser's head and shoulder. His breath was hot against Fraser's neck. Ray's arms slid tight about his partner, under his jacket, crushing the Mountie to him. "Fraser, Fraser, Fraser," he whispered, "Oh, God, Fraser, you have no idea..." 

"Ray..." was all Fraser could get out. The hand that had been on Ray's cheek stroked the back of the detective's neck without Fraser even realizing it. The Mountie's other arm encircled Ray's waist, running softly up and down the cabled muscles of Ray's wiry back, over Ray's t-shirt, again and again, as soothing to Fraser as it was to Ray. An inarticulate excitement built in Benton's chest. His heart swelled and throbbed erratically. 

Ray breathed into Fraser's neck, inhaling the sweaty and masculine scent of Fraser under his leather bomber jacket, and the scent of the leather itself... Keeping his eyes tightly shut, he pressed his lips to Fraser's neck. He felt the sandpapery roughness of the Mountie's five-o'clock shadow. His lips moved up where the Mountie's neck met his jaw, and kissed lightly and tentatively down Fraser's jawline to his mouth. There he hesitated a moment until Fraser pulled Ray tighter to him, forcing their closed mouths into gentle contact. 

Fraser opened his lips just slightly under Ray's, accepting the hesitant tip of Ray's tongue, returning the gesture... And felt his  
tumescent member harden fully against Ray's belly, alongside the heat and hardness of Ray's own cock. Ray broke the kiss. He leaned his head back to look up at the ceiling, pleased and relieved to feel Fraser's arousal, yet feeling shy. Fraser slowly kissed down the detective's neck to the hollow at Ray's throat. He felt Ray's body surrender softly, molding to his arms, laying back like an empty dress in his arms. Benton felt his partner's Adam's apple move under his lips. Felt the lean body he held to him exhale a sighing breath, like a prayer offered up -- 

And then Ray straightened up again, standing tall in Fraser's arms, the sudden tensing of his muscles causing Fraser to take a step back. Ray brought his hand up to Fraser's face. 

His fingers softly, almost reverently, stroked Fraser's cheek from the corner of his eye to his chin. They opened their eyes at the same time, looking in myopic wonder and shyness at each other. And then Ray closed his eyes again. And pressed his soft lips to Fraser's, again and again and again. 

Emboldened by the desire he felt rigid against him, Fraser slid one hand down his partner's back to his buttock, pulling them tighter against each other. Ray felt his arousal. Ray's hand again slid around Fraser's back, and the constable felt his partner's fingers digging into his back as he molded himself to Fraser's body. His face lay alongside Fraser's neck again. 

They held each other, not daring to make any other moves. Not daring to speak. Until their breathing calmed and their mutual excitement subsided. Until people started knocking on the door. 

"Hey, man! People need to use the can!" came an irritated stranger's voice. 

"Fuck off," Ray said, his words gentled by the utter lack of anger in his voice, by being muffled against his partner's neck. 

Fraser didn't want to open his eyes. Didn't want to let go of Ray. He loosened his clasp, however, loosened it enough for Ray to back up slightly in his arms. 

"Fraser," Ray began, then stopped. 

The Mountie still had his eyes closed. He dared not open them. He didn't want this to be another dream. He didn't want to think. He only knew that every part of his body felt that this was right; and right now only a dim corner of his soul bowed its head guiltily. The rest of him gained solace from the man in his arms, from the tender response of the man in his arms. From the fact that the feeling he had thought one-sided, superficial and dismissible was reciprocated, intense, and profound. 

He slowly became aware of Ray's repeated whispering of his name near his ear, of Ray's hand on his stomach. Ray turned in his loose grasp, one arm around Fraser's hips, trying to bring him back to the present. He opened his eyes, to see Ray's profile in a blurry close-up. 

"Fraser, Fraser," Ray whispered again, petting the Mountie's stomach in short, awkward strokes. It awakened a memory Fraser didn't know he had -- of his mother patting his tummy when he was sick in bed one night. Fraser's breath hitched in his throat and he squeezed tears from the corners of his eyes even as he barked one short, inappropriate laugh. 

"Fraser, are you okay?" Ray whispered, worried. 

The Mountie took a very deep breath, and replied hoarsely, closing his eyes. "Yes. No. I don't know." 

"Fraser, c'mon. We gotta get outta here. We'll sort this out, but not here. Okay?" Ray tilted his head, squinting at his partner. 

"Yes, Ray," Fraser acquiesced like a child, releasing his hold on Ray. His arms fell limply to his sides. 

"Okay, Fraser. C'mon. Let's go," Ray said a little louder. And Fraser opened his eyes, to the dull painted metal of the bathroom stall, scratched through with numerous hearts, epithets, and phone numbers. Ray grabbed his wrist, pulled him aside, and opened the door. The small crowd had dispersed, but a few guys glared at them as Ray dragged Fraser through the dim bathroom past the sinks and counter. 

Back in the club, off the dance floor, Fraser raised his hands to his ears. The deafening roar of the pounding music was too much for him. Too much, it was all too much. Ray grabbed one of Fraser's raised hands and resumed tugging the Mountie through the crowd, thicker now than when they had first come in. 

With only a short paused at a literal hole in the wall behind the girl with the tub of beer, Ray reclaimed the long coat he had checked when he'd come in. Then Ray pulled him along gently. Fraser stumbled down the slight descent towards the club's entrance. 

Ray pushed the doors open, and pulled Fraser past the bouncers. The two men took one look at the two of them, and grinned at each other, as if to say "I told you so." 

But Fraser was beyond caring and Ray paid no attention. He dragged the constable half a block down the street, away from the club entrance, and then stopped. 

"Where's the car, Fraser?" he began, turning Fraser to him. The Mountie looked up at his surroundings, somewhat bewildered. 

"Ah, uh -- " 

"It is somewhere around here, right?" 

"Yes, Ray. Uh, I think it's that way." 

"Okay, then we'll go that way." 

The practicalities of every day life snapped Fraser out of his dreamy, quiet state. He began striding alongside Ray, and Ray dropped his arm. Fraser wished the detective had kept holding it -- it felt so nice. But he carried on, sweeping his eyes up and down the street. 

At the mouth of a tiny side street so narrow that cars couldn't park on both sides, Fraser pointed down the street. There was the car, near the end of it, by the dead end. 

They hurried along, not speaking. Fraser found the car keys in his jacket pocket. The jacket that had been hanging open during their entire walk -- that was not, he realized, keeping him warm so long as he was leaving it open. He handed the keys to Ray, and then silently waited as Ray unlocked the driver's door. Ray hopped in, and reached over to unlock Fraser's door from the inside. 

He walked around the car to the passenger door, watching Ray's delicate hand withdraw across the car seat. Wrenching the door open, he settled heavily into the passenger seat, before slamming the door with unnecessary force. 

Chapter 8: Strictly Speaking  
  

__

Oh my God. Oh, God, oh, God. Ray spoke aloud in a whisper, but he was unaware of it. _Oh my God. What was I thinking. Jesus. I am such an idiot. God. I suck_. The irony and double meaning of what he'd just said suddenly hit him, and he chuckled crazily, thinking, _No, I don't suck, that's what he was doing, although -- No, just stop --_

He subsided into silence, sitting in the driver's seat, with his hands over his face and eyes. He rubbed his face, over and over. As if it were dripping wet from just coming in from a rainstorm. Finally he stopped. His hands covered his eyes, though there was nothing to see except the chilly inside of the unmarked car, the steering wheel, the silent radio, the engine off. 

Fraser sat stock still, head down, as if he were examining something in his lap. But all that was there were his hands, slack and palm-up, resting on his thighs and the edge of his leather jacket. Numb and motionless, he appeared almost frozen alive -- but for the shallow, rapid breathing that caused his chest to rise and fall quickly. Sense memory overwhelmed him -- the kiss, the embrace, the heat -- yet so did guilt. Utterly still, he tried fiercely to conjure up the _sensation_ of Ray Vecchio -- the _real_ Ray Vecchio -- his caresses, his lips, his hands. But he could not. 

Oh, he could picture moments -- as if he, Fraser, were not inhabiting his own body. As if Ray and he were in some kind of film. What he supposed would be considered a pornographic film. Except that it was less pornographic than romantic. But the sense -- the _feeling_ \-- of Ray Vecchio wouldn't come. And this distressed Fraser almost beyond reason. 

All he felt was Ray Kowalski. All he smelled was Ray Kowalski. It was only Kowalski's hands on him, under his shirt. His cool hands sliding over his chest and stomach in tentative exploration. It was only Kowalski's kiss that he could invoke, hesitant and shy at first, then bolder and seemingly more experienced even than himself. 

__

Well, that makes perfect sense, he thought to himself. _Ray Kowalski has been married. Was married. Is no longer married. (Just like Ray Vecchio). To State's Attorney Stella Kowalski. What_ , Fraser wondered idly, _was Stella's maiden name? And just how likely was it that a man named Stanley Raymond Kowalski would meet, court, fall in love with, and marry a woman named Stella? Why, the odds must be astronomical_ , he thought. And then he thought, _Out of everything I could possibly be concerned with at this particular moment, why on Earth is it the odds of Ray Kowalski marrying a woman named Stella?_

Ray slowly leaned his head forward to rest on the steering wheel, eyes closed. He gripped the steering wheel as if it were a lifesaver. _What the hell was I thinking_? he asked himself? _What the hell was Fraser thinking? I should never have -- with that guy -- But I -- and he -- we weren't hurting anyone -- at least I didn't know we were --_

Fraser chuckled to himself, but it had an edge of near-hysteria, of disbelief. He stopped as suddenly as he started, his mind going back to the images and the sensations. He could _see_ Ray Vecchio, but why could he only feel Ray Kowalski's wiry arms around him? Kowalski crushing him with surprising force. Kowalski's embrace that ran the length of their bodies. That stirred the deepest secret part of Fraser, that almost-frozen part, frozen not once, not twice, but at least three times, if not more... last by Ray Vecchio. 

It took several more moments for Constable Benton Fraser to realize fully that under the frozen surface of his emotions, lay fiery anger and deep unutterable sadness. A fire and ice combination as deadly to his own heart as to anything else... To what he might have to offer Ray. To what he had _had_ to offer Vecchio. To what Vecchio had... left? Abandoned? Spurned? Denied? 

What had they had? Fraser asked himself for the first time ever. What, really, had he had with Ray Vecchio? _Those words -- he never said them_. Fraser himself had never said them, although he thought them often enough. But what good was thinking? What if Ray had left because he'd never said, I love you, I can't live without you? What if he'd lost Ray because his tongue froze when those words rose to his throat? What if Ray Vecchio had thought it was no more than a passing fancy, something they would both awkwardly "grow out" of and later pretend had never happened? Why had he never told Ray Vecchio the way he'd really felt, how Ray Vecchio affected his body and soul? 

And why now should he be able to remember _thinking_ these thoughts \-- but not remember _feeling_ them, as he _knew_ he had, in his bones, in his flesh, cutting to the quick of his very being? Were such feelings so insubstantial, were they ephemeral until they were put into words? Were they _made_ substantial, made real, by _being_ put into words? Had he forever missed the chance to make them real by not speaking them, by not demonstrating them more than physically? 

Their lovemaking. So ... wordless, incoherent, pre-verbal. The language of children, of a baby: _Give me -- I want -- I need -- Mmmm-hmmm..._ all the gasps and cries and moans and sighs... And few words, ever. Perhaps calling out each other's names at the peak of desire and passion. Occasional stated requests for specific caresses. But otherwise, blindly acting out a desire mostly unspoken, undeclared, unsaid. 

Rarely were feelings expressed, even less frequently were they discussed -- that is to say, never. It had never seemed necessary. Had, in fact, been imperative that their connection be secret and invisible to those around them. And though he was disappointed that they could not be openly affectionate, it made the looks, the "accidental" touches and brushing up or past each other that much more poignant and exciting. Ray never had to say anything to Fraser. He had only to look at Fraser, and Fraser knew what would happen that evening. Knew what the next stolen moment might bring. Knew what Ray wanted. And Fraser never had to tell Ray, or ask. Ray just knew. For the same reasons, Fraser had supposed -- that Ray could see it in his eyes, feel it in his "innocent" touch. 

__

Did not talking about it, Fraser wondered, _make it easier to walk away from_? An intensely mournful sound rose and fell in the car. He only belatedly realized it had been his own choked voice as a hand reached across the gap between them and squeezed his shoulder tenderly. 

And now. So. The other Ray, the pretend Ray Vecchio, really Ray Kowalski. Touching him. Speaking to him, though Fraser heard but could not listen -- or was it listened but did not hear? he wondered. He registered sound but no sensible words. _I must have_ , he thought with a detached and morbid humor, _I must have really gone and done it now. I can hear him, but I can't hear him. I have no idea what he is saying to me. What is he saying to me?_ Fraser paused in his mental babble and took a deep breath, trying his utmost to block out all else but Ray Kowalski's voice. 

" -- and I had no idea, I just thought it was me, and I didn't know what the hell to do, so I didn't do anything. But I couldn't stop thinking about you, it was almost torture, and every little thing \-- _every_ little thing -- seemed to have a double meaning. And then I would rethink it and think, No, Ray, you're an idiot, Fraser could not _possibly_ want anything to do with you. You're lucky the man can deal with you on a partnership basis, with your attitude, your cocky attitude, your mouth -- You say things and you don't think, you think things and they come out of your mouth before you know what you're saying. You do things without thinking, like an idiot you socked him in the jaw, and Fraser is so _not_ like that -- Fraser _thinks_ , he's kind, he has manners. You're a slob, you have no class -- But Fraser could give lessons, and you should have picked some stuff up by now. But anyway, that's not what I mean about this... what was I talking about? -- I just can't believe -- and I'm so stupid -- you must think I'm such an ass \-- " 

"Ray," Fraser began the familiar refrain, but hoarsely, barely above a whisper. "Ray. Ray. Ray. RAY." His shoulder ached under the detective's tight grip. 

The detective looked up suddenly, and turned his head in Fraser's direction. The interior car lights were not on. A street lamp four or five cars down barely illuminated the side of Fraser's cheek, like a satellite picture of the earth before sunrise, the thin crescent of light at the edge of the planet... "Have you really been listening to me?" Ray said, surprised. 

Fraser looked down in his lap, and said hesitantly, "Well, strictly speaking, I didn't hear the whole thing. You must have been talking for some time before I realized..." 

The detective gave Fraser's shoulder one last strong squeeze, in an attempt to say more with his hands than he could say with his mouth. Then he returned both his hands to his lap, and they lay there limply, palms up, nothing to do. 

Fraser tried to begin again. But he felt so unlike his normal certain, knowledgeable, confident self. "Ray. I..." he lapsed into silence a moment, then sighed and tried to continue. "I shouldn't have overreacted like that. I am truly sorry. I didn't realize that you already considered yourself on the case and -- " 

"Fraser," Ray interrupted, "Fraser, wait." He paused and could not look at the Mountie. One hand went nervously through his hair while his mouth worked silently a moment. Then, "It was more than that," he dragged out of himself, raggedly. "It was more... and it was less than that," Ray finished. "I \-- I couldn't -- well, you seemed totally out of the question. I wanted to see if it was _you_ , or if it was just _men_. God. I'm such an idiot. How can I be so _stupid_ sometimes?" he half-yelled in anger at himself, then threw his head in his hands and slammed it onto the steering wheel. As if banging his head would knock some sense into it. 

"Ray, you're going to hurt yourself if you don't stop that," Fraser reminded him practically. 

The detective stopped immediately, turning to the Mountie, taking his hands from his face, and saying softly, "Do you care?" 

"Ray -- I -- you know -- " the Mountie couldn't finish. _Wait. Clear throat. Swallow. Try again. Deep breath_. "Ray. What I mean to say is, Yes. I do care. Not just because it's your head. Not just because if you split it open, the blood would doubtless spatter all over me and the interior of the car. Not just because a concussion can cause -- although, strictly speaking, the chances are good that -- " 

"Fraser!" Kowalski practically yelled. "Spit it out! Say what you're going to say and get it _over_ with! Stop with the safety talk!" 

"All right." Long pause. Deep breath. "I, too, have been... distracted. Pre-occupied. With... you. More than usual. Distressingly... more than usual. And then tonight when you -- when he -- " He broke off, unable to continue. 

"When he was _blowing_ me," Kowalski crudely interjected. "Let's just call a spade a spade, Fraser. He was blowing me, I was letting him. I was into it. I can't explain it. I'm not normally like this..." 

"Ray." 

"Fraser. What." 

"I know you're not normally like this. I mean, perhaps with women \-- oh, dear, that sounds -- I mean, that is to say -- " 

"I think I get what you're trying to say, Fraser." 

" -- In terms of -- oh. You do?" 

"Special circumstances. Things, uh, inspired me. I had the opportunity, if you think about it like a crime. The opportunity, the motive. The justification." 

"No, Ray. You mustn't." 

"Must not what." 

The Mountie finally turned to look at his partner, slowly raising his eyes to meet Ray's. "You mustn't think of it like a crime," he said quietly. "It is _not_ a crime. Well, that is, certain things are considered illegal, depending what jurisdiction you are in -- " 

Ray closed his eyes, exasperated. Fraser hurriedly closed off that tangential thought and continued with his original thought. 

"I just meant that it shouldn't be considered a crime, as in something harmful, that hurts anyone. But as I was saying, I just worried -- when I saw the metallic flash from his rings, I thought -- " 

"I know." The detective looked back into those innocent blue eyes. And then had to close his own eyes and breathe deeply before speaking. "Look, you were right. I was wrong. It _was_ stupid. I just couldn't say no. I had to see if it was just you, or... He could've been the guy. How would I know? I know from nothing. I coulda been, slice, slice, one dead cop, with his pants around his ankles and a hushed-up death. He was pissed off, but he'll live. But I might not have, if he _had_ been the slasher guy. And if he _had_ been, I'd owe you my life." He looked away. 

The Mountie shrugged, embarrassed as always when his prowess as an unarmed officer of the peace was touted as nearly superhuman. 

"No, really," Ray insisted. 

"Really, Ray, it was not that much of a -- " 

"Look, I know I said just to stay in hearing range. But now that I think about it, I'm glad you did follow me and spy on me." 

"Why? If I hadn't, we wouldn't be in this... predicament." 

Ray Kowalski looked over at his partner. Biting his lip, he met his partner's eyes. "I know. If you hadn't, none of this would have happened," he finished, looking simultaneously worried and pleased. That shy smile twitched at the corners of his lips. His wide, dark pupils lent his expression a bizarre mixture of total innocence, and feral hunger. Then, flustered by the directness of Fraser's stare, he looked away. 

Fraser flushed and looked down. "It was none of my business, Ray -- " 

"Yes, it _was_ your business!" Ray turned in his seat, physically turned his body toward the constable's. "I haven't been able to get you out of my _mind_. I thought I was going nuts, reading things into stuff you said, seeing things in the way you acted, then later saying, 'Nah... that wasn't what you thought'... I've been _dreaming_ about you," he barked an ironic laugh, "How's that for obsessed? It's bad enough with Stella, but now with you? I thought I was going out of my mind." He laughed, but bitterly. "And now..." 

The unfinished sentence hung in the air. For a long moment, Fraser did nothing. Said nothing. Kowalski did nothing, said nothing. 

And then very hesitantly, the Mountie extended his left hand to grasp Ray's forearm. "You weren't," he whispered, leaning hesitantly closer. "You weren't going out of your mind. Any more than I am." He nervously licked his lower lip, gripping Ray's forearm tightly. 

Ray paused and placed a hand over Fraser's. He felt the warmth under his palm, the strength of Fraser's grip on him. 

"No," he said, drawing that hand, that arm, towards him, leaning into the space between them. "No, I'm not going out of my mind," he said. 

He closed his eyes and blindly thrust his mouth in the direction of the smell of sweat and leather. Halfway across the front seat, his mouth was met awkwardly by Fraser's. And once again, their mouths locked together. 

This time was simmering, lingering, languid -- not rushed and stolen. In private, in the car, not in public, they had the chance to truly take their time. The kiss tasted of cider and beer and sweat and fear. Ray felt Fraser trembling, and backed off a bit, only to be surprised by the directness of Fraser's touch... the hand on his cheek... the other hand on his thigh, moving upward, hesitantly and slowly, but inevitably, toward his lap. 

__

What, the Mountie said to himself, _what do you think you're doing? If you continue on this way, there can be only one outcome. Are you prepared for that? Are you aware of that? What about_ \-- and then he shoved all rational thought away and let instinct move his body, his limbs. 

Fraser gently moved Ray's hand, slowly, slowly. Grasped it and slid it down his leather jacket, past the lapel, zipper, pocket... And then Fraser ever-so-lightly lay Ray's hand in his lap and let Ray feel his rising excitement. But he didn't move Ray's hand to do anything more. 

A pause, a breath, and their mouths parted for an instant, barely apart. Each felt the tickle of the other's breath on his upper lip. And then Ray fell onto Fraser, unrestrained now. He lifted the heavy edge of the leather jacket, feeling Fraser's erection through his jeans, stroking his thigh with the other hand... 

And the Mountie surrendered. Uncurled his stiff spine, lay back awkwardly against the seat and the passenger door. Let the smell and feel of his partner Kowalski fill his nostrils, his senses, raise gooseflesh on his body. Let it blot out almost everything else in his head, save the way his body hummed under his partner's, the way he trembled as Ray's hands shoved his jacket up awkwardly. Still, a dim alarm far away inside him sang of inevitable disaster... 

But Fraser had had enough of inevitable disaster. _Inevitable? So be it_. Let his life not be spent mostly waiting. Let his flame not flicker and go out. _Hide it under a bushel, no_ , he remembered a children's church song. Let it burn bright as possible, even if it burned him irreparably ...as it doubtless would; as it already had before. Then at least there would have been some _reason_ for nurturing it over all the empty years, in the face of loss after loss. 

He had been innocent before. Too many times. Now he was not. This time, the innocent was the other person. And he, Fraser, would endeavor to treat that innocent man better than he had been treated. He would make all of it all right for Ray in the way it never went right for him. 

Chapter 9: The Way It Goes 

Ray had somehow wound up on the bottom, under Fraser. Although apprehensive of not being in control, initially, Ray soon realized that Fraser's firm but gentle touch would never cross any lines he wasn't ready to cross. And he knew, somewhere, that he would not have had the nerve to move beyond kisses, caresses, hugs. Occasional erotic images flashed through Ray's mind, fantasies of the things Fraser could do to him... things Ray secretly wanted but had no nerve to ask for. 

Somehow he knew Fraser would know what he wanted  yet the Mountie would never force anything, he knew. Benton Fraser would lead him to those forks in the road, and then wait there until Ray had the courage to step down a particular path. Somehow he felt safe, felt he could put himself in Fraser's hands, where he would only go as far and as fast as he wanted to go. So far they had not moved beyond caresses, which was fine  for now. 

Not that an unmarked police car was exactly a good place to move beyond those. But at least it had bench seats. Good for cuddling. Among other things. 

The windows were steamed up. Winter in Chicago. Yet the hands on him were warm. He lay quietly, feeling like that time the dentist gave him nitrous -- a happy, buzzing, light-headed feeling, and his body felt high. But now, it was high on the best drug in the world: pleasure. And yet, so... so clothed, so high-school, so... innocent. Except his shirt was pushed up to his neck...

Fraser's lips kissed a meandering path up and down Ray's neck and chest, from his chin to his navel. So very slowly and tenderly. Every once in a while, that lush mouth brushed a nipple and Ray shivered. Losing himself in the sensations, he dimly realized that it must be getting quite late... Yet he couldn't bring himself to protest a thing. Especially as those full lips settled on his again, while Fraser's strong, capable hands stroked down his hairless chest to his navel, the waistband of his briefs, the hot, dry warmth of his stiff cock, bound up in his briefs. He moaned quietly, the sound muffled in the Mountie's mouth. 

Ray clutched the edge of Fraser's jacket, while the other mirrored Fraser's moves, stroking down Fraser's strong, compactly muscled chest, his flat belly. Shaking with excitement, they slipped into Fraser's jeans, fingers pointed down towards Fraser's toes, stroking over the hot, swollen cotton. 

The Mountie still kissed him, but he was bringing his hand up to Ray's chest, to Ray's face. He stroked across Ray's brow -- for once, not a wrinkle of concern marred it. 

"Ray," he whispered. 

"Wha..." came the intoxicated reply. 

"We should probably get going, Ray." 

"Why? We can stay a little while longer, can't we?" 

"I don't think so... it seems like it might be getting light out." 

Ray's eyes popped open, to look straight into the face of his partner. "Shit, it _can't_ be. How long have we been here?" he queried Fraser, as the Mountie sat back and sat up, in the driver's seat. Once Fraser was off him, Ray sat up. His hair was mussed -- spiked here, flattened there -- his clothes were undone, his shirt open, pants open. He distinctly felt drunk, but he knew he wasn't. He swiped the fogged window next to him. Sure enough, the beginnings of that blue light that heralded the first yellow streaks.... _Damn_. He sighed. 

"So." 

"So," the Mountie agreed. Neither looked at each other. 

"So, uh, where are we going?" 

"You're going to take me back to the Consulate, and then you're going to drive home." Fraser suggested. 

"Oh," Ray said, taken aback. "You don't wanna... ?" 

"On the contrary, Ray. I would... very much like to. But you don't realize you've had quite a night. It might not seem that surprising now. But when you wake up tomorrow, you will have a lot to think about." 

Ray groaned, feeling his erection subside. He still faced away from Fraser, tracing shapes in the fog on the passenger window. A star, a diamond. A circle that became a smiley face -- and then a devilish smiley, with the addition of eyebrows. 

"Come on, Fraser," he whispered. "You can come home with me." 

He felt Fraser grasp his other hand, the hand that was in his lap. Fraser squeezed it. "Ray, I know it's very tempting," he began. Then, ducking his head, he admitted, "It's very tempting for me as well. But you absolutely must consider what we've gotten ourselves into. Lest you forget... we're on a case. We are partners. I am a Royal Canadian Mounted Police liaison to the Canadian Consulate. You are a Chicago police detective. This is not... just having a warm body to sleep with," he finished in a whisper. 

Ray swung his head back angrily. "You think that's what I'm thinkin' it is?" he said, getting upset, taking his hand back. "Just wait a second. It's way more than that, and _you_ know it. I _told_ you. This isn't something that just occurred to me. It's been _plaguing_ me! Thoughts of _you_ plague me! What am I supposed to do when I've seen all this before and I know how it's supposed to end? Even if all I know is what happened in a dream about you?" He scowled at the Mountie. 

But those clear, blue eyes never wavered. "No, Ray, I didn't think that's what you thought," he said -- though, technically, that was a fib, and he _had_ wondered... Ray seemed rather impulsive. Very impulsive at times. "It's just -- I don't want -- " He stopped and started over. "You should be very sure this is what you want. We should _both_ be very sure, before things go any further." 

"I'm sure," Ray snapped, looking away again. "Aren't you?" He crossed his arms over his chest. 

"It isn't a matter of being sure. I know myself. You... you know yourself, but this part of yourself, you don't know. You don't know -- _I_ don't know \-- how you will react tomorrow. You might regret everything you did -- we did -- this evening." He saw Ray's arms crossed defensively, prepared to argue. "Ray," the Mountie soothed him, "I'm not saying that it's wrong of you to do this. But... All right -- for example, how do you feel about women?" 

"Huh?" Ray stopped, very confused. 

"Women. The female of the species?" 

"Yeah... what about them? They got breasts. Your point is...?" 

"How do you _feel_ about them?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"Do you still, still look at them? Consider the possibility of getting involved with one?" 

Ray began to see what he meant. There were, of course, plenty of women he was not attracted to. But there were also plenty of women he _was_ attracted to. Where did that fit in? Slowly he realized that the entire fabric of his life, the woof and warp, had changed with this one evening _. Am I bi? I'm not gay... am I?_ he wondered. He shook his head. 

"Maybe," he hesitated, "maybe you're right," Ray conceded, sighing. "It's a lot." 

"As I said... " the constable trailed off. 

"No, you're right. You are right. Of course," Ray said, irritated but calmer. But he was no longer angry. Just deflated. And suddenly very, very weary. 

Ray hunted around in his coat pockets for the car keys while Fraser buttoned and tucked and zipped all of his clothing. 

"Here," Ray said, having found the keys. He tossed them in Fraser's lap. "You're in the driver's seat.... drive." He sat back and began straightening his clothes, tucking things in, running his hand through his hair. 

"I believe," Fraser said, starting the car, "that there is what they call a vanity mirror on the other side of your visor." 

Ray flipped the visor down. Sure enough, a vanity mirror. As he was trying to rearrange his "mad scientist" hair, mussed from the make-out session with Fraser, he thought about the vanity mirror. Something about this irked him. 

"Hey," he said to Fraser, who was hunting for the controls for the car's heater/defogger, "do you have a vanity mirror on your visor?" 

"Let me see," Fraser replied, pulling down his visor. "No, Ray, just a flap in which to tuck things, probably for insurance information or maps. Why?" 

Ray regarded himself in the vanity mirror _. So... the vanity mirror is only on the passenger side. Like only a woman will sit there and want that._ Somehow, after what had just gone on in the car, this upset Ray. He snapped the visor up angrily. Fraser had found the control for the defroster, and the fog inside the windshield was slowly dissipating. 

"Who's in charge of this relationship?" Ray burst out. 

Fraser, who was now trying to find the rear-window defog controls, looked quizzically over at Ray. "Should there be someone in charge?" he asked. 

"Well, isn't there?" 

"I, well, that is to say... why should there be?" 

"That's usually the way it goes, don't you think?" Ray replied irritably. 

"Actually, no," Fraser said, looking back at the dashboard and finding what he'd been looking for. "You don't think the entire course of a relationship is controlled by one person, do you?" 

"No," Ray said, "Just that there's usually some kind of argument about who's going to decide what goes on, and one person usually takes the lead most of the time." 

The Mountie regarded him silently for a moment. "Is that -- Do you think that's the best way for things to evolve?" he asked quietly. 

Ray shrugged. "No. But that's just the way they always seem to go." 

"Let's not predetermine things, Ray," Fraser replied, suddenly sad. "Things will happen however they are going to happen." He paused, thinking about what he'd just said. "I realize that's not a very satisfactory answer. It contains no plans and no assurances about the future. But if there is one thing I know, it's that one really can't plan the future. One can have plans, or goals, but the future frequently turns out quite differently than one expects... and you have to be prepared to deal with unexpected changes." 

Ray sighed. The Mountie was, of course, right. Then he thought about what Fraser had said... and _how_ Fraser had said it. He turned to look at Fraser. 

"What happened to you?" he asked, realizing that Fraser knew all about his heartbreak over the divorce and loss of Stella, the torture of thinking about her with another man. The sadness with which Fraser had spoken... had it always been there in Fraser, and he'd just never noticed? Or did the man keep it hidden? 

"I'd rather not talk about it, Ray." Fraser said, almost monotone. He put the car in drive. 

"Okay," Ray said, slightly hurt and somewhat chastened to realize that he had never really considered what Fraser's romantic past had been like. Oh, he'd heard about Victoria and the bombs _she'd_ dropped -- but not from Fraser. And that had happened a while ago. Could his friend still be broken up about it? This seemed a fresher wound somehow. 

Ray turned back to Fraser. "Someday," he began hesitantly, "someday will you tell me? I can listen. Like you've always listened to my problems. Really, I can." 

Fraser gave him a long searching look before replying. "I..." he started, then stopped. Then started over. "I don't know, Ray. I'm not very good at that sort of thing. It has nothing to do with you. I've always been this way." 

The detective nodded slowly, turning to look out the windshield. It was definitely getting light. The car's engine purred. 

"Okay," he said, turning to look out the window. _This isn't about what you want_ , he told himself _. You have to think about what he wants or doesn't want, too._ He took a deep breath and exhaled in a sigh, thinking, _Maybe this time around, I'll pay better attention than I did with Stella. I won't let the little niggling things slip through and ignore them. I'll call 'em like I see 'em. Maybe that's what I should have done before._

"I'm sorry," Fraser said. 

"It's okay. Everybody's different. It's just... well, I know you've listened to me and my problems. A lot. A _real_ lot. And I just realized... you never talk about yours. I just wanted to tell you... I can listen too. If you want me to." 

"I... do appreciate that, Ray. Truly I do," Fraser began. 

Here comes the 'But...', thought Ray. 

Fraser sat a moment, then just repeated, "I appreciate that." 

He looked into the rear view mirror and put the car in reverse. He backed up carefully, then put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb. Ray leaned against the window, shutting his eyes. They drove silently in the direction of downtown and the Consulate. 

Chapter 10: Feeling Slightly Foolish  
   
  

"...and tonight we'll have that Alberta Clipper sweeping down into the Midwest over Lake Superior and Lake Michigan, bringing arctic cold and strong winds. We can expect it to bring a cooling trend across the Great Lakes states and the upper Midwest," the radio crackled. 

Once again, Ray woke up in his clothes on his sofa. This time, however, it was after 1 p.m. in the afternoon. 

"Expect temperatures in the teens, possibly dipping into the tens, and sub-zero wind chills by Thursday," the radio weather man continued. "Strong winds, 25-35 miles per hour, subsiding by late evening tomorrow. And now, traffic. Stacy?" The radio droned on. 

Ray Kowalski clasped a pillow to him and turned his face to the back of the sofa. The sound of the radio faded into the background as he snuggled into the sofa, feeling warm, sleepy, and content. And then he stiffened, remembering _why_ he felt content. 

He rolled over onto his back, looking up at the ceiling. Images and memories of the previous night's events came rushing back to him. He let them wash through his mind until there was only one enduring image: Fraser. The thought of Fraser made him feel simultaneously warm and freaky. He felt a stirring in his groin as he remembered things. And yet, he was dumbfounded at his own actions. _Oh my God,_ he thought. _I can't believe I did all that._ He was more upset about the incident in the bathroom than about _anything_ he'd done with Fraser. _God, you're stupid._

He sat up, trying to put it all out of his mind, and swung his feet to the floor, tossing the pillow aside. Of course he couldn't put any of it out of his mind. He had to admit, when recalling Fraser's actions in the bathroom, actions _against_ the man Ray had been with... _it was less about the danger to me,_ he thought, _than it was about Fraser being jealous._ That thought echoed in his brain. _Fraser? Jealous?_ And yet he couldn't help having a hunch that he was right on the money with this. And a secret pleasure that Fraser was so upset by it that he'd gotten physical. Even though Ray felt guilty that Fraser had been so provoked, he couldn't help being pleased, too. 

__

Mmm, Fraser jealous. That was good, he decided. _Maybe he really feels something for me,_ Ray thought. And only then did he admit to himself that he was afraid the Mountie, too, had been only looking for a warm body, physical gratification. 

__

Of course, gratification is good, Ray thought as he stood and walked to the bathroom. _One nice thing about living without a woman,_ he thought-- _You never have to put the seat down and no one is gonna complain about you leaving it up all the time._ He chuckled to himself as he relieved himself. _But Fraser's probably the kind of guy who puts the seat down automatically._

Fraser. His beautiful Mountie. Ray could hardly believe he'd been eye to eye with his partner -- eye to eye, body to body, mouth to mouth. He shivered as he recalled the heat between them. In the bathroom at the club. In the car. He shook off the last drops and tucked himself back into his briefs. 

But what would Fraser say today? How would he react? Ray worried. _He's probably going to be really sorry everything happened the way it did,_ he thought with an inward groan. He leaned over the sink, just thinking for a moment. Four emotions warred in Ray. Utter bafflement at his own actions. A steady warm feeling for Fraser. A secret fear of rejection, of being cut off. And a sinking feeling of fate gripping him. 

__

That's silly, he thought, stripping his clothes. _Fate has no hold on me. I can affect how things go._

But, as he walked to the kitchen to make some bad instant coffee, he couldn't help worrying. _How will Fraser treat me today -- tonight, when he sees me?_

\----- 

The Mountie had had perhaps three hours of sleep before he had to get up and prepare for the day. Inspector Thatcher was preparing for a conference at the Chicago Hilton, representing Canadian diplomacy at a gathering of diplomats posted in the United States. Fraser had to be certain she had everything she needed, and that the laptop batteries were charged. He winced as he stepped into her office, the bright light momentarily hurting his eyes. 

And he did get everything done, and he did take notes of everything Inspector Thatcher had to say about the day-to-day functions at the Consulate while she was gone. And he did everything more than satisfactorily. And yet, mentally, he was so far from the Consulate. Mentally, he was back in the car with Ray Kowalski. And when he wasn't in the car with Ray, he was in that bathroom stall, peering over the wall and watching the pleasure Ray was experiencing ripple across his face... Watching it cause his hands to involuntarily clench and unclench. Make his thighs shake. And he had to thrust away the thought, more than once, the irrational thought that he could do a far better job of that than the dark haired, dark-eyed man who'd picked Ray up. 

"Fraser, are you paying attention?" Inspector Thatcher interrupted his thoughts. 

"Yes, Sir, you were just saying..." and he rattled off the last few notes he'd written. She gave him a perplexed look, as if she couldn't understand how he could appear so vacant and yet prove he had been paying close attention. Fraser didn't understand it himself, but he seemed able to do his job and daydream simultaneously. On occasion, mostly in childhood and adolescence, he had been very good at it. But it had been some time since he had done it. Or had it been? Was he just pretending he hadn't gone through that with Ray... Vecchio? 

That thought was shoved away as well, as Thatcher bent down and picked up the laptop case, and Fraser set down his notepad and pencil to pick up two of her suitcases. Turnbull got the doors for both of them, they settled her in a taxi, and Fraser and the driver got the suitcases in the trunk. Without a backward glance, she was off to the conference. 

For only a moment, Fraser considered taking one of his accrued sick days. So many had accrued that he was no longer allowed to accumulate any more. He paused, thinking about the last time he'd called in sick to work when he wasn't really sick. _No,_ he thought, momentarily superstitious. _I had better work a full day. Hopefully Ray won't be back on the case again tonight,_ he thought. But he had a sinking feeling that Ray would be. 

He woke with a start, sitting upright in the chair behind the desk in the foyer. He had dozed off for the umpteenth time today. God, but he was tired. Still, he would soldier on. 

The phone rang. Shaking his head slightly to dislodge the groggy feeling, he picked up the receiver and answered with his title and the fact that it was a consulate. 

"Hey, Fraser," came a hoarse and awkward but welcome voice. His heart leapt into his throat, and he flushed a dark pink. 

He cleared his throat with difficulty, swallowed, and attempted to answer in a normal voice. "Hello, Ray. How are you?" 

"Mmmm. Got lots on my mind." 

"Ah, uh, that's understandable--" 

"Lots of _you_ on my mind. You workin'?" 

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I am currently receptionist and officer in charge, as Inspector Thatcher is..." 

"You get any sleep, Fraser?" 

"Uh--" he paused. 

"You didn't, did you?" Ray said sympathetically. 

"Uh, no," he said, becoming less formal. "Ray, I... well... how are you _feeling_ , Ray?" He stopped, not wanting to say anything more, not wanting to influence anything. _Oh, Ray, please say it meant something,_ he thought. _Please let it have been the comfort and blessing to you that it was to me._

"Mmmmm," Ray Kowalski said, half-yawning. His voice became lower, gruffer, and warmer. "I'm feeling _real_ good, Fraser. Real good." That cheeky grin, that seductive wink was audible in his voice. Fraser colored slightly, exhaling with relief. "You all right, other than not getting any sleep?" the detective asked. 

"I, uh, I feel quite... quite... enervated, Ray," Fraser said, thinking, _'enervated'? Say something less ridiculous, next time!_ "Quite... alive and glad to be," he finished nervously. 

"Me, too, Frayzh, me too," Ray purred into the phone. Fraser closed his eyes. If he could have seen his own face, he'd have been surprised to see a smile tip up the corners of his mouth. "I can't wait to enervate you more," Ray added, and Fraser's eyes popped open, as he felt a stirring in his groin. A feverish feeling overcame the entire surface of his skin, including that which was covered by his serge and uniform pants. 

"Ray," the Mountie began quietly, ducking his head and lowering his voice, "I'm afraid I can't... speak freely at the present time." 

"That's okay, Fraser. Look, when are you off work?" 

"Oh, Ray, I-- that is, exhaustion has-- I mean, I have dozed off here in my chair more than a few times this afternoon--" 

"Yeah, I know the feeling," Ray added. "Look, I know you're really tired. But..." he paused. _Please,_ he thought, unable to finish the thought. _Just-- Please._ "...We need to talk. About the case, among other things," he added hurriedly. 

"Oh, yes, of course," Fraser said, quite formally. Uncertainly, Ray wondered if Fraser were trying to distance himself now. "Why, certainly. Perhaps after six PM? Constable Turnbull will have gone by then," he added, and then blushed deeply again, realizing how that must have come across to Ray -- in a way he hadn't meant at all! 

"Oh, he will, huh?" Ray chuckled, to Fraser's chagrin. "Well, we'll have to see what else we can... talk about, besides the case," the detective teased him good-naturedly. "I'm sure we can think of something, hey?" 

"Yes, I, uh," the Mountie stammered. He gulped. "Shall I expect you at six?" he finished, his voice softening. 

"Sure, Frayzh," Ray whispered on the other end. "I'll be there just after six. See you then," he said. 

"Right you are," Fraser replied, and then hurriedly hung up. _Oh, dear, oh, dear. What to do, what to do?_ He nearly wrung his hands with combined nervousness and excitement. He took a deep breath and placed his hands flat on his desk. _I will breathe calmly and deeply until I am entirely rejuvenated and mentally alert and awake again,_ he thought. He began yoga breathing, slow deep inhales, and full, slow exhales. He did this for five minutes before he was able to sit back in his chair, relaxed and reassured that everything was under control. 

Except his thoughts, of course, which he had to rein in frequently over the next hour and a half while he waited out the end of the workday and Turnbull's departure. 

\---- 

He was self-consciously smoothing his hair down in a mirror when he heard the slight click of the front consulate door shutting. He was still in his uniform, and determined to stay in it. _Ray will not be staying,_ he said to himself firmly. _We will talk about the case. And other things, possibly, but that will be it._ Yet his profound sense of excitement was dampened only by a need to appear completely Mountie-like, completely professional and uniformed -- a need to look as good as possible for Ray. 

He heard Ray's light footsteps coming hesitantly down the hall. They paused between the doorway to Thatcher's office, and the hallway to the rest of the first floor, through which one eventually came to the room in which Fraser slept. Ray moved toward the far door, he heard. And then Fraser stepped out of Inspector Thatcher's office, making rather a loud noise while opening the door. Handling the doorknob with rather more force than he'd intended. Fraser stood in the hall, hand still on the doorknob, now behind Ray. 

The detective slowly turned around, cold air still coming off his long coat. The Mountie looked... heartbreakingly good. _Nah, that's not the right word,_ Ray thought. _He looks... beautiful,_ Ray thought. _Just handsome and beautiful and sweet._ Ray smiled shyly, his heart beating faster, hesitantly walking towards Fraser, slowly. 

The Mountie released the doorknob, ducking his head and tugging at his high collar. He blushed fully, dropping his eyes. _Ray, my Ray,_ he thought. wondering at his use of the possessive. The shiny quivering of Ray's spiked hair sparked a memory. A delicious and naughty memory. He couldn't look up at Ray, feeling excited and embarrassed. When he'd regained his composure, he looked up and Ray was standing within three feet of him, searching his face. 

"Ray," he began, and then realized he had no idea what to say. Nothing. His mind was blank. He looked into those pale light eyes, which blinked coquettishly, or so he thought. Ray looked away nervously, and then looked back, meeting his eyes again. The detective took a half-step towards his Mountie partner. 

"I couldn't wait to see you, Fraser," he whispered. "All day long I thought about you." He stopped his advance, uncertain. It seemed as though Fraser had swayed away just slightly, backed up just slightly, backed away from his advance. He unconsciously bit his lip as his eyebrows pushed upward and wrinkled his brow. 

__

Oh, God, Fraser thought, watching that tiny vein -- _no, it must be an artery,_ he corrected himself -- throb in Ray's temple, under the close-cropped hair. The air between them almost crackled with tension. Belatedly the Mountie realized he had not responded to Ray's admission of feeling. He shifted his weight forward, without taking a step, and inclined his head somewhat formally. "Ray," he began, his throat dry, "It is _good_ to see you, too." _Oh, dear, that sounds so cold,_ he thought to himself, worried now that the detective would think he was backing off. _Why am I so cold, why do I speak so formally?_

"Is it?" Ray said, stepping up close to Fraser, a worried look on his face now. 

"Yes, Ray," Fraser said earnestly. He unconsciously reached out to touch the sleeve of Ray's coat. The detective registered the touch, with a momentary tilt of his head, but his eyes never left the Mountie's. 

"Ray... I..." Fraser began, then paused and swallowed. He couldn't look at Ray, and yet he couldn't look away. "You... you wear your heart on your sleeve, I believe is the expression, Ray," the Mountie started again, quieter. "One has only to look at you, and how you're feeling is almost immediately apparent." He looked down. "I... I am not like that. I... don't find it easy to discuss certain things. In fact, I find it extremely difficult," he admitted, looking back up at Ray. 

But Ray's dubious expression had softened into a sweet and concerned look. "Look, Fraser, I'm not asking you to change," he said, grasping the hand that clutched at his sleeve. "I just... I just need to know. If it means anything to you. If _I_ mean anything to you. Because... because you mean a lot to me." 

They stood, barely breathing, looking into each other's eyes. One hand grasped another, the only physical link between them. And then the Mountie inclined his head just so, and Ray sidled up to him and threw his arms around him. 

"Okay, okay, okay," Ray breathed into Fraser's ear. Fraser's stiff arms moved, flexed, slipped cautiously around the detective, and slowly gathered him into a full-body hug. 

Suddenly Fraser felt like weeping. _My God, my God. Get yourself under control!_ he told himself. But still Ray's whisper tickled in his ear, "Okay. Okay. It's okay." Like a mantra. Perhaps it _was_ a mantra. Then his lips pressed gently to the side of Fraser's face, half on his jaw, half on his earlobe. And Fraser inhaled deeply of Ray's wool coat, the coolness that emanated from it, the rough, itchy feel of the coat collar, turned up against the cold, and the slight stubble on the side of Ray's face. 

__

We're perfectly matched, Ray thought. _Almost exactly the same height, he thought. That's good, isn't it? A good sign?_

Fraser began to loosen his grasp, and Ray pulled away gently, realizing the Mountie was getting anxious. Apart again, having only embraced, held hands, and exchanged a chaste peck on the cheek, both men breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed. Fraser led the way into the parlor room with the paintings and burgundy couch. 

Ray following happily, bouncing on the balls of his feet. _There's plenty of time,_ he thought. _Plenty of time for everything._ Fraser looked at him, over his shoulder, and he blushed, cracking a grin at the Mountie. A sheepish smile was his reply, and a slight shaking of the Mountie's head. _Always so sensible, Fraser,_ Ray thought. _You need to have some fun._

He flopped down onto the sofa, looking up at Fraser standing next to it. He looked seductively, but playfully, up at Fraser. "Aren't you going to join me?" he murmured. The Mountie looked momentarily taken aback. "I'm just kidding Fraser! Jeeze. Calm down, all right?" 

Fraser nodded, feeling slightly foolish, and sat down in an overstuffed chair near the sofa. 

"All right, Ray. What is the next step in this investigation?" he asked seriously. 

Ray, glad to have something concrete to focus on, began to talk. 

Chapter 11: Where It Takes Us  
   
  

"Here's the thing, Fraser. I know we're going to have to catch this guy, but there's something that worries me," Ray began. Halfway through, he realized what he was saying would touch on both the case _and_ the new ground he and Fraser had begun walking together the previous night. He paused, looking up at Fraser. The Mountie nodded seriously, encouraging him to go on. 

"Okay, the thing is, maybe we should get some more information on the crime scenes and the forensics for the unsolveds that seem to fit this guy's MO," Ray began. "Because maybe this guy only started in bars recently. Maybe bars aren't his favorite place to prey on guys." 

"It's quite possible, given that the other victims were homeless, that he was... seeking their services, or they were plying their, ahem, trade," the Mountie conceded. 

"Right. So I'm thinking, that sort of thing, we're talking about guys on the street, getting together in parks or public bathrooms, maybe at the beach..." Ray went on. "And the other thing is..." he hesitated. 

Fraser, who had been looking down at his folded hands, looked back up at Ray. "The other thing is...?" he prompted Ray. 

"Okay, uh, the other thing is... If this guy's MO is to slash _after_ giving head to these guys, then that would mean that I would, uh, have to..." he trailed off, embarrassed, and looked away. "I'd be dropping my pants with -- or seriously teasing -- a lotta guys. And some of 'em are bruisers," he said, flashing his eyes at Fraser and then looking away self-consciously. He nervously ran a hand through his hair, causing it to stand up even more -- if that were possible, Fraser thought. 

"Ah. Well. It appears that... yes, if that is his MO, then you would be..." Fraser said, after a moment. He looked down at his hands again, the knuckles whitening as they grasped each other tightly. "That presents a problem?" he asked, looking back up at Ray briefly, and then back down. 

"Well, yeah, it presents a problem... doesn't it?!" Ray asked him, somewhat exasperated. Fraser thought about it, thought about the previous night. It certainly had seemed Ray had been... enjoying it, he thought. Perplexed, he looked up at Ray, shrugging his shoulders. 

"Look, Fraser, do I gotta spell it out for you?" The Mountie merely looked at him steadily, a curious yet innocent expression on his face. _Oh, Christ!_ Ray thought. _He is thick sometimes._

"Fraser," he began roughly, and then stopped, thinking, _maybe I better go easy on him with this._ "Fraser," he said more gently, looking down at the Mountie's well shaped hands, briefly remembering they felt _on_ him... "Don't you remember what you _did_ to the guy? If that's something that we're gonna have to go through with every suspect, then..." he trailed off, unsure what else to say. 

"Oh," The Mountie said, his expression becoming an utter blank, neutral gaze. He sat back in the chair, resting his arms on the armrests. "I see," he said tensely. 

"Look, Fraser, I wouldn't let it get that far," Ray went on haltingly. "But I... I'm not sure how else we're gonna get this guy. We gotta find out more about how those homeless guys died. Maybe bars aren't the only places. Maybe he _didn't_ give them all head, although I'm not sure how we can figure that out with no bodies, and nothing to exhume in most cases." Unable to take the tension anymore, Ray jumped up and began pacing back and forth between the sofa and the maple coffee table. 

Fraser sat, frozen. He preferred not to think of the mad irrationality with which he sometimes reacted to emotional situations. It only happened rarely... but when it did happen, it was usually completely thoughtless and dangerous. To himself, if to no one else, but often to others as well. He sighed inwardly. _Get ahold of yourself_ , he thought. _If this is the only way this case will be resolved, then it's the only way... and it must be borne._

"Well?" Ray interrupted his thoughts, standing in front of him. Ray looked down at him with an expression that demanded an answer. 

Fraser ducked his head, embarrassed. Without looking back up at his partner, he fidgeted with the seams of the upholstery on his chair. 

"Well, if that is the only way we can entrap the suspect..." he trailed off, unable to continue. 

Ray suddenly knelt in front of him, putting a hand on the Mountie's knee. 

"Fraser, don't you see?" he said, almost whispering. "I don't _want_ to get... into those situations. I haven't even -- with you -- we haven't -- Look. I don't want to upset you, that's part of it. But... I don't want to do it, really. I just was... being stupid. I didn't know there was any chance... And I thought, maybe it's just guys in general, not just Fraser..." he paused, looking up into the Mountie's averted face. "But now I know that's not true," he went on, emphasizing his point with a squeeze to Fraser's knee. The Mountie flicked his eyes toward Ray's, and saw the openness of Ray's face. 

Now it was the detective's turn to look down. 

"Fraser, I know what you must think of me... I mean, even after Stella, and when I was still aching over her so bad, there were other women. And I'm not gonna lie, of course it felt good. It felt good last night with that guy. But it's not the _same_ as it would be with... it doesn't _mean_ anything with strangers I'll never see again. It isn't... _special_. In a way, it's even _colder_ that way. I don't need any more coldness, y'know?" he finished, and looked back up into Fraser's face. 

Fraser's heart went out to Ray, though he couldn't make himself move. As if from a great distance, he heard rather than felt the words being dragged out of him: 

"Ray... I can control myself," he began, but then Ray abruptly bounced up, angrily turning away. 

"Goddamnit, Fraser! I don't _want_ you to have to control yourself! I'm _yours_ , nobody else's!" he said angrily, and spun back around to confront the Mountie. 

"Or is it that you don't _want_ that? Are you just trying to give yourself an 'out' for this? Because if your heart's not in it, then just forget it!" Though he looked ready to explode, there was almost an edge of tears in Ray's trembling voice. 

"Then fine! Head from strangers in bathrooms and public places will be just fine!" Ray added, spitefully. But his voice cracked with emotion. Fraser could tell it was a hollow threat. 

"No, no, Ray," the words burst from Fraser before he could think. "It isn't that I don't want you! I just thought... and perhaps you might, well, might--" 

"Might... what?" 

"Well, given your history, I thought..." 

"Oh, great!" Ray turned away again, his emotions too volatile, too close to the surface. If he faced the Mountie, he'd either throw himself at Fraser, strangle Fraser, or shoot himself. "God, Fraser, I know I'm a slut," he went on furiously. "I act first, think later. It's not my strong point. But it's only-- it's only--" he choked off his words, too afraid to continue, too afraid he'd further alienate his partner and the man he had _thought_ might be his lover. "Oh, God," he said miserably, stomping over to the sofa again, and throwing himself down. The wool coat tangled under him but he didn't care. Fraser already knew what a klutz he could be. 

"Look, Fraser," Ray began again, eyes closed, arm defensively thrown over his face. "Me, I'm a loser. I don't do that great on my own. I need to be with someone. Even if they'll be gone in the morning, or I'll be gone in the morning. It's better than... better than... The bed's too big, too empty, when I'm alone. Maybe it's because I was with Stella for so long, I just can't get used to it. It isn't that I'm desperate--" he paused, and then his muffled voice continued, "Okay, maybe I _am_ desperate. I just... I can't help it sometimes. But I _never_ , I _never_ \-- When I was with Stella, I absolutely never had anything to do with anyone else. If I got someone in my corner, they're all that matters. When I'm with someone, I'm _with_ them. Them and no one else. I'm faithful." 

Ray sighed deeply, thinking, _Right. Fraser has seen you on the make with how many chicks? Like he's gonna believe this. That's all he's seen of you, except what probably looked like you trying to get Stella in bed again one more time... He doesn't even know what it's like, alone, empty bed after over ten years of never sleeping alone. To feel safe, warm, even for five minutes with someone I'll never see again... Better than never feeling safe or warm again at all. Isn't it? But he-- No, he's perfectly fine all by himself. He wouldn't understand that. Keep your mouth shut._

The Mountie was lost in his own thoughts. Thoughts of the pain he knew inevitably followed opening one's heart to another. _Why do I do this?_ he wondered, then quickly amended it. _Why do people do this to themselves, when they would undoubtedly be safer and better off alone? Is it so necessary? No man is an island. And yet, mightn't a man be better off if he... No, no, this isn't..._ his thoughts wouldn't even form her name. And only Herculean effort kept Ray Vecchio out of his thoughts. _Focus on Ray Kowalski. He has his faults, as all humans do. But you know him. He is your friend. Even if he did... but then he did ask you to hit him back. And he got shot stepping in front of a bullet meant for you after the Riv went into the lake. He admits when he's wrong and accepts the consequences without dodging -- for the most part, anyway. His is a big heart, true and staunchly loyal once a person is in it. He was like that before -- before --_

Ray heard a noise, close at hand, a sound of fabric on fabric, and pulled his arm up off his face. And there was Fraser, kneeling by the sofa, eye level with Ray. Ray looked into that handsome face, still amazed that someone so physically attractive could possibly be such a good person. Not just on the surface, but all the way through, the farthest thing from arrogant or snobby. All the way through, a good guy. Amazing. And after all this time in Chicago, involved in police matters, dealing again and again with the stink of bad people... None of it had ever rubbed off on the Mountie. And never would, he knew. 

Fraser put his hand on Ray's shoulder and said quietly, his eyes never leaving Ray's, "I believe you, Ray. I do understand what you mean when you say the bed's too big and empty," he continued. But when curiosity swept across Ray's face, he hurriedly went on, "You and I... you and I just deal with that... differently. And that's to be expected, because we're different people. Just because I am not that way... doesn't mean I don't understand." He sighed, and Ray felt the slight breeze of Fraser's exhalation on his cheek. 

"Believe me, I do understand," he continued slowly. "And I do believe you. I believe that... infidelity is not a part of your committed relationships." He felt the detective relax slightly under his hand. "But, we don't even know where this is going--" _I don't know where this is going,_ Fraser thought, _I don't know what I'm doing, God help me_. "You might-- you might change your mind, Ray. And that's even more of a possibility given that this, ah, aspect of a relationship-- the fact that we, that is, a same-sex relationship-- which you've never experienced before--" he suddenly sat back on his haunches, as the detective sat up quickly. 

"Fraser, look. Yeah, this is new, a lot of it-- okay, maybe all of it. But I know how I feel," he said intensely, his eyes getting icy, "I _know_ how I feel. And I know how I _have_ been feeling, and what's been on my mind. And how much I tried to run away from it, and not get my hopes up, okay?" Ray paused, his voice becoming sharp. "I go with my gut. And my gut says this is right, this -- with you -- it's right. That's all I need to know." 

"Now," he said harshly, his voice toughening as his body stiffened, as if preparing for a blow, "Now, maybe _you_ aren't sure how you feel. And maybe this isn't right for _you_ , and this is something you realized between last night and now. And that's fine. That's all you gotta say, and I'm back to playing rude cop, polite cop with you, like nothing ever happened," Ray finished, with an exaggerated shrug. 

The Mountie's expression softened. "No, no, Ray. You mustn't think that. It... does feel right. With you." He looked down. "More right than I ever would have hoped or expected," he whispered. _More right than anything, ever, except for-- no, don't think about that now. He's undercover, he had his reasons, it's over and done with._

Ray couldn't stand it any more. The meekness in his Canadian partner, the round-shouldered way he knelt by the sofa. Ray sat up and grabbed Fraser by the shoulders. "Then let's _go_ with it, Fraser," Ray said, drawing them together, looking at Fraser's sad expression. "Let's just _go_ with it, go where it takes us, and we'll deal with whatever happens, Fraser. I -- you mean a lot to me. More than anyone has since Stella," he said, avoiding Fraser's eyes guiltily at mention of his ex-wife again \-- then looking back at him directly as they both stood. But still he grasped the Mountie's shoulders. 

"I know I bring her up too much. And I know it's over and I just gotta accept that," Ray went on quickly. "If I could just flip a switch and turn off all thoughts of her forever, I would. And I do accept that that's over. It just hurts sometimes, because there's so much history. But I have a history with you, too. And... it's a good thing. I guess it hasn't been that long. And we've had our ups and downs. And I know I've been a jerk. 

"But even way before last night, I knew that you were a good guy. I knew that when the chips are down, you would come through for me. And ever since you saved us both on that freighter, I said to myself that no matter what, I would always come through for you. I might con and scam and bluff through everything else. But not with you, not where you're concerned. And that would still be true even if last night never happened. It's just that... it did. So there's history... and then there's last night, too. And when I put them together in my head... it says, 'I'm with Fraser now.' That's what I get," he finished. 

The Mountie gently wriggled out of Ray's grasp, straightening his uniform. He took a deep breath, looking at his partner Ray, his rough-around-the-edges Ray. That roughness, that edge, that vulnerability... And that transparency, that inability of Ray to mask his feelings-- these touched him. He knew the detective meant every word he was saying. His heart contracted at the pain in Ray's face. How did the good feeling, the heat and passion of the night before, turn into this painful exchange? He abruptly sat down on the sofa. 

The detective jumped, and then sat down, somewhat apprehensive, but looking hopeful. 

"Ray," Benton Fraser started, "You are so... volatile. In a good way," he quickly added, as he saw Ray's shoulders stiffen. "You can't hide your feelings. One would always know where one stood with you. I just need you to realize -- you need to accept -- that I'm not that way. I'm ... not so easily emotional. I go by my word." The detective nodded slowly, knowing Fraser spoke the truth. "If I, if I give you my word that you _do_ mean a lot to me, that I do consider that if we... go down this path, only we two go... Please believe my words the way I can just look at you and know that you're telling the truth. I don't know if I can ever change, ever be... more like you. So you must take me at my word. And my word is... I'm yours. If you will have me," he ended in a whisper. 

"Okay, then," Ray replied, whispering back. "Then why are we getting all upset?" 

"I don't know," Fraser whispered back, looking miserably down at his once-again tightly clasped hands. 

"Fraser... don't," Ray said, reaching over to put a hand on the Mountie's tightly gripped hands. The Canadian looked over at him apprehensively. And in that moment of vulnerability, that moment where Fraser looked so uncertain and worried, Ray softened like a teenage girl. "Oh, Fraser," he said, and leaned into the Mountie's space, placing a soft, close-mouthed kiss on Fraser's lips. 

Fraser responded by suddenly putting his hands on Ray's waist and drawing him across the couch. "Ray, Ray," he said -- then silenced himself and Ray by kissing the detective back. 

Ray squeezed Fraser's wrists, sliding his hands up the Mountie's forearms to his shoulders. The Mountie's arms encircled him. Seated alongside each other, their thighs warmed where they touched, and the warmth excited Ray. The tip of his tongue encountered Fraser's, and the Mountie gently sucked it into his mouth. _Oh, that's it_ , Ray thought, and slid his hands back down his partner's arms to his lap, his thighs. _That is it. Here we go!_

And Fraser, for his part, suddenly found himself being fondled, delightfully, pleasurably caressed. He ran his hands up the inside of Ray's coat to the shoulders. Then began sliding it off Ray. 

Ray shrugged out of the coat, and Fraser dragged it out from under the detective. And then Ray lay back on the burgundy sofa, pulling Fraser down partially on top of him. He ripped the Velcro of Fraser's high collar apart, and slowly undid the buttons of the uniform. _That sexy uniform_ , he thought. Then the entire tunic was open and Fraser was shedding it with a growing haste. 

He settled on Ray, half on Ray, half on the sofa, and they looked at each other shyly again, with nervous and tentative smiles. Then their lips met again, and their hands explored each other's bodies again -- undoing buttons, stroking each other's hardness, undoing top buttons of pants, slipping under waistbands, untucking shirts. All the while they slowly and hotly moved their mouths against each other's, taking turns exploring with lips and tongue. 

Within a scant fifteen minutes, both men were naked to the waist. Side by side on the sofa, they were cramped together in a most delightful way. Legs entwined, pelvises grinding together, they stroked each other's smooth skin. He was surprised and happily curious to discover how smooth, smooth like a classical sculpture, Fraser's hard body was. 

For the Mountie's part, something about the sweetness with which Ray gave himself -- offered himself to Fraser \-- inflamed him more than he had thought possible. His reaction shocked him. He had already stripped Ray of his shirt. Couldn't stop pressing his lips to the wiry man's chest and stomach... couldn't stop running a hand up and down one lean haunch, the back of one lean thigh and compact buttock. 

The detective arched against him. Fraser slid his hand around to the front of Ray's leg, to the inseam of his pants. He slid it ever so slowly up the inside of Ray's thigh, tugging a sighing moan out of Kowalski. He gently stroked Ray between the legs, caressing him from his balls all the way up the hard, hot shaft he felt beneath the fabric. His mouth fastened onto one nipple, not thinking. Just feeling. Just barely hearing Ray's little gasps, feeling the slight dig of fingers into his back. He slid his hand back around to cup Ray's buttock again. With a hitch in his breath, Fraser kissed farther down the detective's chest, down to his stomach, his navel, the top button of his jeans, unbuttoned now... 

Ray unconsciously ground his cock against Fraser, in rhythmic thrusts. He didn't realize he was tightening and relaxing the grasp of his thighs on the Mountie, as if riding a horse. Somewhere in his mind, he knew they were asking to be caught: _doing this on the sofa in the public parlor of the Canadian consulate_! But it seemed so unimportant. All that mattered was in his arms. He bent his head down, stroking the Mountie's head and short hair. Feeling the tickle of Fraser's breath on his stomach, losing his grip on Fraser's leg, he felt the Mountie undo his pants, unzip his fly, and gently tug his pants down around Ray's knees. 

"Oh, yeah," Ray exhaled, pressing his hot briefs against the Mountie. 

Fraser felt the wet spot against his stomach. Ray was exceedingly hard and obviously highly excited. Fraser idly wondered, in one corner of his mind, if he himself were that aroused. He hardly had time to think that thought, when he felt Ray reaching down to undo his uniform pants, jangling his suspenders, unzipping his fly. 

They opened their eyes at the same time, and looked at each other for a moment. The early winter dusk had settled around them. Then both sat up in the half-darkness, with a single thought, quickly stripping themselves of their pants -- But where Ray could merely kick his shoes off, more effort and skill was required for Fraser to remove his boots. 

Once in nothing but their briefs -- and in Ray's case, socks -- they lay back down next to each other, shy once again, holding each other quietly. Finally, Ray couldn't stand it anymore, and began that delicious and unsettling thrusting against Fraser again. And the Mountie began kissing the detective's face, eyes, jawline, down his neck... 

Ray's hands stroked all over Fraser's compact but well-muscled body, feeling the broad shoulders, the flat stomach trembling next to his own, the beautiful hip bone, the strong thighs. _I'm so thin_ , he thought, _so thin compared to him._ Fraser felt so... substantial. Truthfully, he felt so... _safe_ in the Mountie's arms. Protected. He hadn't expected to feel that... and to like it so much, for it to feel so... right, so homey. He sighed happily. 

Fraser slowly cupped Ray's buttock with one hand. All thought was wiped from his mind. All there was, was Ray. Ray's tough body, relaxing and softening, wrapped around him, hot and musky. He smelled the detective's sweat. He drew his hand up Rays' back, then slid it back down, under the edge of Ray's briefs, just slowly, gently, his palm on Ray's naked buttock. The detective moaned in his arms, and, emboldened, Fraser slid the briefs down. They caught on Ray's erection, going only so far. Fraser stopped there, then, letting his hand stay on Ray's buttock. 

Finally Ray reached between them and unhooked his waistband from the head of his cock. The briefs, and Fraser's hand, came down fully. The Mountie couldn't help trembling as he realized he had his partner almost completely naked and next to him. His own erection throbbed slowly, and he felt the tickle of Ray's pubic hair against his hip-- an excruciatingly exciting sensation. Their mouths met again, wet and warm, and Fraser imagined that mouth on his-- _no, save that for later_ , he thought... 

And then Ray's hand went behind his own buttock, grabbing Fraser's hand, gently. He brought it back around his thigh, to his genitals, pressing Fraser's hand onto his cock and thrusting into the Mountie's hand. Then he slid his hands around Fraser's waist, slipped them into the back of the Mountie's briefs, and slowly exposed Fraser's perfect, round buttocks. They were solid and fleshy in his grasp. 

Two moans escaped their two throats simultaneously, one rising in pitch, one falling. The detective unhooked the Mountie's briefs from his erection. And after they'd both slid their briefs down and kicked them off, they lay slightly apart. Just stroking their hands up and down each others' bodies, they feasted their eyes on each other, their caresses getting bolder. 

Fraser feared going too far, going too fast for Ray. But Ray soon had his hand wrapped tightly around Fraser's smooth, hot cock. For a moment, the picture of Fraser kneeling between his thighs, entered Ray's mind. He dragged his mind back to the moment, to the incredible heat and velvety-soft skin of the Mountie's erection. He'd never thought about it, holding his own cock while pissing, or even beating off... But the fact that it was always covered up, never exposed, must explain the beautiful soft and silky skin on a cock. 

He slowly moved his hand up and down in a dreamy wonder, slicking it up on the pre-ejaculate that had leaked out. Was this how Fraser masturbated? he wondered. He was half playing doctor, and half pleasuring Fraser. 

Fraser had stopped doing anything but holding onto Ray, letting his partner determine what was touched, and when, and for how long. And it was good to let the pleasure come to him. He tried to put out of his mind all that he longed to do to -- and for -- Ray, and just concentrate on what was happening just now. Just now Ray was learning what caressing another man felt like. And just now... just now, Ray had stopped moving...? 

Fraser opened his eyes, and looked straight into Ray's eyes. The detective's head rested on Fraser's bunched bicep. Ray had a funny look on his face. A bittersweet expression of sadness below the nose and happiness around the eyes. 

"Is something wrong, Ray?" Fraser whispered across the scant inches between them. Two pairs of dilated eyes regarded each other. 

"Just now, Fraser," Ray whispered back, "just now you looked..." he trailed off uncertainly, but smiled sadly and raised the hand that he'd just been stroking Fraser's cock with, and brushed the backs of his fingers, his knuckles, softly down Fraser's cheek. 

"Just now I looked...?" Fraser prompted him. 

Ray paused. "Just now you looked ... you looked like you were all mine. You were completely here. With me." 

Fraser felt those fingers stroke his cheekbone, his jaw, touch his lips. _And, you_ , Ray, he thought, _you are already all mine, too. I can tell._ He supposed that this feeling -- not a feeling of ownership, no -- this feeling of... power, of having control over another man's pleasure or pain, was something that others might... exploit. But all it inspired in the Mountie was a great feeling of tenderness towards Ray. 

"That's because, Ray," he said softly, "I am all yours now." He pushed away guilty thoughts of Ray Vecchio, along with the angry and sad feelings of being left without any explanation. He pulled himself fully back into the moment, the present. And in the present, a beautiful, lean and lanky Chicago cop was lightly stroking his chest, lingering on his nipples, feeling his bicep. He closed his eyes again. 

Ray, unbeknownst to Fraser, was pushing away thoughts of Stella, painful thoughts. _Why do good times always have to remind me of bad ones?_ he wondered. But he knew that what had prompted the thoughts of Stella was looking into that relaxed and dreamy expression on Fraser's face, while Fraser had his eyes closed. As if all there was in the world was the two of them. And he was touching Fraser, actually touching him, there where he'd wondered what Fraser felt like. And he'd seen in the Mountie's face how completely he put himself in Ray's hands. And Ray realized he'd never seen that look on Stella's face. Not even in the height of passion. 

And somehow even though that hurt, it was all right. Because that was behind him, and all that he saw in front of him, and ahead of him, was this lovely man in his arms. This utterly good human being, who wanted to be good to him. _God. Please don't let me screw it up this time,_ Ray thought. _Please let things work out right, this time._

Though their passion had momentarily subsided, the two lay in each others' arms the rest of the night, dozing fitfully. Periodically, they woke, to touch and stroke and caress each other again, and then dozed again. At some point, pre-dawn, Ray felt Fraser gather him up and hold him tightly, as if the Mountie couldn't hold him close enough. He pressed his sleepy lips to the Mountie's shoulder, and slid his arms around Fraser. For what seemed like the first time, he felt warm, protected and truly needed. 

And Fraser felt Ray's complete, trusting surrender, and felt no glory in the power he had over Ray, no satisfaction at having conquered a heart. He felt only a deep gratitude to the universe that this strange and quirky man, this troubled but good soul, had come into his life. The way Ray was wholly his was a gift, something to be treasured. He kissed the detective's lips and cheeks and eyes and forehead over and over, until he had let the knowledge sink into his bones. This man was truly, one hundred percent, all his, holding nothing back. 

Chapter 12: Dream About Us  
   
  

"Ray. Ray. Ray. RAY," the Mountie spoke louder. 

"Uh-huh," Ray replied, burrowing his head deeper into the sofa and Fraser's chest. He settled back in comfortably, half-asleep again. 

"RAY." 

"Whaaat?" the detective grumbled. "God, Fraser, I'm all talked out, 'kay? I'm yours, you're mine. Can we go to sleep now?" 

"Ray, we've _been_ sleeping." 

Exasperated sigh. "How long?" 

"Long enough that it's 5:30 a.m., and I need to get ready for work. And you need to get ready to leave. Turnbull arrives at 7 a.m., Ray," Fraser finished, looking down on the naked man in his arms. 

"Ohhhhh. That changes everything," Ray mumbled into the couch. But he didn't move. 

"Ray, Inspector Thatcher is coming here at 7:30 a.m. to pick up something she forgot for the conference." 

"What?" Ray barked, sitting up suddenly, knocking Fraser off the sofa onto the carpet. "She's coming back? I gotta get outta here! What if she sees? She'll say something to Welsh..." he trailed off, looking down at the Mountie who merely looked up at him, smiling. "What are you grinning about?" he asked Fraser, irritated. 

"She's not really coming, Ray. I just wanted to get you up," the Mountie replied, with some satisfaction. 

"Fraser! Dammit, since when did you start lying?" 

"It wasn't a lie... so much as a fib," Fraser said defensively. 

"Okay, I know, I know," Ray said. "I'm just surprised you got it in you," he said, glaring down at Fraser. "I guess it hadda happen sooner or later, if you were in Chicago long enough." 

"I guess so," Fraser replied, getting to his feet. 

At that moment, as Fraser leaned on the armrest of the couch, Ray looked up at Fraser. In the dim light filtering in from the streetlights and the dawn, he saw the boyishness of the Mountie's still innocent face. Saw the body, smooth and pale as a carved figure -- and as beautiful. _God, he's so beautiful_ , Ray thought. _What on earth is he doing with me?_

Fraser, who was absently scratching the sole of his foot and stifling a yawn -- _another night of only a few hours of sleep!_ \-- looked down to see Ray eyeing him dubiously. 

"What is it, Ray?" he asked, concerned, and sat down next to the detective. He reached down to the floor to grab his briefs and slip them on. 

"Nothin', Fraser. Nothin'." Ray reached down and grabbed his own briefs off the floor and silently stood to put them on. He turned away, suddenly shy, thinking, _Hm, Fraser's only really seen me in the dark_. 

"Are you sure, Ray?" came Fraser's voice from behind him. Ray shook his head vigorously, not trusting himself to say anything. He adjusted himself, and then absently scratched the back of his neck. 

"All right, then," the Mountie said. He bent down and gathered up his uniform breeches, Ray's pants and shirt, his own shirt and serge tunic. Then he separated the clothes into piles of 'Ray' and 'Benton' on either side of him on the sofa. Ray turned around, carefully examining Fraser's face. Fraser looked up at him. 

"Ray?" 

"There was someone else, wasn't there?" Ray asked quietly. "Another... man. That's why you're, uh, you're kind of taking the lead... right?" 

The Mountie looked down at the pants he held. This was not what he wanted to talk about. In fact, he didn't even want to think about it. He inhaled deeply, and exhaled with a sigh. 

"Yes, Ray," he said shortly. "There was." 

"And... ?" 

"Nothing. He had to leave, so he left." 

"'Had to leave'? What the hell is that?" 

The Mountie just shrugged and stood to put his pants on. 

"C'mon, Fraser. He didn't just leave. Something happened, right? That's why you're so..." 

Zzzizz, went the Mountie's zipper, and he buttoned the top button of his trousers, and glanced at Ray. The doubtful expression on Ray's face prompted Fraser to sit heavily back down on the couch, and look up at Ray. 

"What is it that you need to know about this, Ray?" Fraser asked him coldly. He supposed that Ray had a right to know, in a way. Yet he also supposed that it was his own personal, private business. And he didn't want to reveal how raw the wounds still were. 

"Nothin' you don't wanna tell me," Ray said more quietly. "Y'know, I'm not trying to interrogate you. It's just... the way you look, I get the feeling he really hurt you. And if he did, I'd like to find the bastard and..." 

"Ray, Ray," Fraser interrupted quickly, "No, it's nothing like that. It just... didn't work out. We, ah, couldn't work it out between the two of us and our jobs. He was, ah, he was also in law enforcement." 

"Uh-huh," Ray said noncommittally. 

"He... he was transferred somewhere else. That's all. It couldn't be avoided." Fraser looked down, hoping Ray would buy the fibs he was giving him. 

"Okay... so he didn't, like, screw you over, then?" 

"No, no," Fraser said nervously. "Nothing like that." 

Ray paused, reaching for his pants. As he stepped into them another thing dawned on him. He looked over at Fraser, who was putting on his shirt. 

"No one knew, did they?" Ray asked. 

"Excuse me?" Fraser asked, confused. He had immediately put the subject out of his mind, with relief, as soon as Ray had dropped it. 

"No one knew... about him... the other guy, did they?" Ray said. 

Fraser colored slightly and felt the heat rise to his face. "No, Ray. No one knew. At least, to my knowledge, no one knew." He looked away. 

Ray sat down gingerly next to him -- not too close. "So you... you had to keep all that... stuff to yourself, huh? Couldn't let it show, couldn't talk about it, because no one even knew that you guys..." he trailed off as the Mountie pressed a hand to his brow, hiding his eyes. 

"Ray," Fraser breathed. "Yes, yes, all right, I had to keep it to myself, and no one knew. _Please_ , if you would -- I'd rather not talk about it. Please." He covered his face with his hands. _Not now, not now. Not on the heels of such a lovely_... 

"It's okay, Frayzh, it's okay," Ray soothed, throwing his arm around Fraser's shoulders. He briefly squeezed the Mountie to him with those wiry muscles. "I'm sorry," he said earnestly. 

But a nagging seed of jealousy germinated in him. _Who was it_? he wondered. _He better not be coming back. Because Fraser's mine now_. But under that fierce thought, Ray knew that he would never feel completely secure in anyone's love. No matter how often or how intensely they declared their feelings -- even if they were a Mountie whose lies were so bad he was totally transparent. Ray tried not to be so easily threatened, so easily jealous. But it was a constant battle that he never fully won. 

"Thank you, Ray," the Mountie said, as Ray released him and began to put his shirt on. "It's in the past, now." He pulled up his suspenders, then stood up to slip into the serge jacket. 

Ray said nothing. Then, "Fraser... we gotta figure out some other way to get this guy out in the open, to flush him out. Before I have a bunch of guys pissed off cuz I led them on," Ray said. "I've been trying to figure out a way. I mean, I know we gotta find out more about the crimes and the crime scenes. But..." 

"Yes, well, Ray, perhaps you could get close enough to them, or engineer some sort of social, or, ah, physical intimacy that doesn't involve..." the Mountie stammered, embarrassed -- he would rather do such things than discuss them. 

"Well," Ray said slowly, buttoning his shirt. "Hey, wait, I got an idea," he said, looking up at Fraser and thinking about his own momentary jealousy. "Hey, how about this," he said, getting slightly excited. "Maybe this could work -- I'll have guys who look just like him hit on me. Maybe he'll be around, checking me out because he likes guys like me. And seeing another man get me might drive him out, into action." 

Fraser regarded him seriously. "Ray, our police sketch isn't very specific. The suspect, other than having a passing resemblance to me, is fairly generic looking. How are we going to go about finding men who look like the suspect and who will 'hit on you' in such a way as to make the slasher insanely jealous?" 

"That's it, Fraser," Ray said slowly, closing his eyes and then popping them open to look at the Mountie. " _You_ are the man who will be hitting on me," he grinned. 

"What?" 

"Look, it makes sense. I need someone who I can trust, who can hit on me, in public, in a way that drives the perp crazy. You already fit the bill. And there's... well..." 

"There's...?" Fraser prompted him. 

"Well, you're the perfect person," Ray said sheepishly. 

"Me?" 

"Yeah, why not?" Ray asked, now fully dressed, struggling into his shoulder holster. 

"Well, I-- I mean, that is to say..." Fraser stuttered. 

"It could be fun, Fraser," Ray chuckled at the flustered Mountie. 

"I-- Uh--" 

"Well, let's just consider it. See what you think, or if you think it's just another wacko Ray plan." 

Fraser sighed, with relief \-- momentary relief, anyway. Having it as an option -- well, that was one thing. Having it be their _only_ option... was quite another. 

"Or, uh," Ray started, then stopped. 

"Or what, Ray?" Fraser asked him, smoothing his hair down. 

"Or... you could hit on all the other guys who look like me, who look like the type of guys the perp is after," Ray said, after a pause. 

Fraser did a double-take at his favorite spiky-haired detective. "Ray, excuse me, but weren't you just..." But then he decided not to accuse Ray of being jealous of the unknown other man. 

"Wasn't I just what, Fraser?" 

"Never mind. I suppose it's a possibility. Although one I can't say I look forward to," the Mountie sighed, sinking back down onto the couch, fully clothed now. 

"I can't say I look forward to it, either," mumbled Ray, "but I can see it being more effective than you just hitting on me. In terms of catching the guy." His casual shrug belied the tension in his voice. He sat down on the couch a little ways from Fraser. 

For a while they both said nothing. 

Then, "Okay, Frayzh, pitter, patter, let's get at 'er. It's a new day." Ray bounced up from the couch. He reached out a hand to pull Fraser up. 

"Ray, tell me the truth, now," Fraser asked seriously. 

"Tell you the truth about what?" Ray asked, already feeling guilty. He wondered what he'd lied about before. Fraser grabbed his hand and he hauled the Mountie to his feet. But Fraser didn't let go of his hand. 

"When you leave here," Fraser began again, still holding Ray's hand in his, and looking Ray Kowalski in the eye, "what are you going to do?" 

"Oh, I don't know, go down to the precinct, see what else Frannie can dig up on--" 

The Mountie smiled, shaking his head. 

"What?" Ray said, irritated. 

"You're not going down to the precinct, Ray," Benton Fraser smiled indulgently at the lean cop. 

"Oh, yeah?" Ray said, getting cocky. "If I'm not, then where am I going?" 

"Ray, you and I both know where you're going," Fraser whispered, and drew the cop to him in the semi-darkness. Ray came grudgingly, cranky at the implication that he was lying. "You're going to go home and go straight to bed, aren't you," Fraser said softly, pulling Ray into a strong bear hug. "You're going to sleep the day away, while I work, aren't you!" he finished, his words muffled as he nuzzled Ray's neck. 

Ray Kowalski felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up in excitement from the Mountie's attentions. "Well," he started, and then had to laugh. "Well, yeah, I guess that's what I probably will do," he said, sheepishly. "I promise to dream about the case and figure something out by tonight," he said into Fraser's neck. 

"Mmmm," the Mountie said, hands on either side of his head now, looking Ray right in the eye. "I'd rather you dreamed about something else, Ray." 

"Oh, yeah? What's that?" 

The Mountie kissed Ray's mouth gently, but firmly. Ray's lips parted under his, as if the detective couldn't help himself-- he _had_ to kiss him back. Fraser felt Ray's legs begin to tremble. "Ray," he whispered, drawing back. "Dream about us." 

The skin under Fraser's hands, the cheeks under his palms, grew hot as Ray blushed and ducked his head. But his eyes were bright and smiling. He left the consulate with that expression, looking cool and casual, with a spring in his step. Fraser moved the drapes aside just an inch or two, to watch him go. 

Chapter 13: Almost, But Not Quite 

He'd joined Stella in dance lessons as a kid. What a nerd he'd been. A kid could afford to be soft and sentimental. He'd become a cop: a hard-nosed cop, whose nose wasn't so hard. The pressure had been unbearable: trying to come off as tough when everything was crumbling. He'd been getting referrals to the precinct psychiatrist right and left. Excessive force. Personality conflicts. It might as well have said, "Does not play well with others" on his last official performance review. 

He'd overheard the gossip. Two cops at the urinals had been talking while he'd been in a stall. They'd said he was going to crack, and soon -- completely unaware that the subject of their conversation had locked himself into a stall in the bathroom where they stood pissing. Unaware that he was squatting on a toilet seat so no one would know he was there from a cursory glance under the stall doors. The irony was that he'd gone in there to get away from everyone and everything. To just have a few moments of peace and quiet, away from the noise and chaos and the demands made of him in the precinct. 

Dooley had bet he'd crack within a month. Lipinski had said Kowalski was too tough for that. That it would take at least three months before he was formally ordered to take a vacation \-- without his badge and gun. They'd bet ten bucks on it. 

Then Ray had heard them zip their flies as they finished up and walked out. By the time he got down, shaking, from his perch on the toilet, he was more nerve-wracked than when he'd come in. He didn't blame the guys. He'd made similar heartless wagers on the misfortunes of others' lives. But he would never do it again, now that he knew what it was like to be on the other side. 

It had been a great relief when the real Ray Vecchio had vacated his life for a top spot in gangster paradise. Undercover sucked, but not the way Ray Kowalski was doing it. He was in a new precinct, with all new people, and they knew him from nothing \-- he hoped. Probably Welsh had heard the gossip, but he was a fair man. He judged his cops on how they did their jobs. Not on what he heard at Dugan's while having a beer. And Ray found that with his new partner, he could afford to be soft and sentimental occasionally. Oddball that the Mountie was, he didn't give you the usual razzing you expected from other cops. And much as Ray liked razzing Fraser, he appreciated the Canadian's kindness and courtesy. 

Ray wondered at his situation. He wasn't himself, and yet he was. He could still _be_ himself; he just had to answer to the name Ray Vecchio. He had a new desk. And he hadn't brought all his personal stuff from his old desk. When he'd left the old precinct, he'd brought all his stuff home in a box and put it at the bottom of his closet... where it still sat, untouched since then. He hadn't brought any friends, because he hadn't had any left to bring. In his role as the fake Ray Vecchio, he had a built-in friend: The Mountie. He had few of the stresses of undercover, and all of the benefits. He had a new life. 

Sort of. Some new things were making this new life very confusing to him. And some old things kept dragging him back to the Ray Kowalski he had wanted to shed. He felt a frequent uncertainty about both. Was he still the person he had been before he'd assumed Ray Vecchio's identity? Hadn't he crossed some lines since he'd gone undercover, done some things that the man he used to be would never have considered? Some very recent things? Had taking Ray Vecchio's place changed him into someone -- something -- he was not? 

And yet somehow these lines he'd crossed, these things he'd done, were not entirely foreign. It was as if they'd always been in him, been part of him. A part of himself he had never known, and had never had to face. 

The cop in him was the same instinctual cop he had always been. But outside The Job, he still wanted to be the Old Ray he had been, sometimes. That was why, he'd realized lately, he had run so eagerly into the vacancy left by another detective. He wanted to be his old self. But that time was past, that life was over, those days gone forever -- wanting to have them back was sometimes excruciating. So, more than he wanted to get back his old life, he wanted to _not_ want his old life. And then Vecchio's position had opened up. And it was a blessing. 

But some things kept dragging him back, dragging him back. Damn seeing Stella earlier this morning. She'd had another nice suit on. As he'd leaned on the wall, on the hand he had extended over her shoulder, talking to her, she'd gotten a more and more impatient look on her face. Finally, perplexed, he'd asked her what was the matter. 

"You don't have to stand there like that, Ray," she'd begun harshly, then softened as she continued, "with that proprietary air. We're divorced, remember?" she added gently. It was then that he realized he was looming over her, standing between Stella and the hall, Stella and any passersby in the hallway, Stella and the world. 

"Oh, sorry," he'd said, too surprised at being caught in an unthinking moment of possessiveness to say anything more. Stella had given him a half-sad, half-exasperated look, and then she was briskly moving down the hall. 

Was that what his problem was? He couldn't let go? But this time around, it didn't bother him so much. This time around, he'd felt more at ease, less pained at seeing Stella. Less pained at seeing her moving away down the hall, heels clicking. 

Probably because he finally had someone else now. Someone who responded to him in ways Stella never had. Not because she had been unresponsive, but because she was... not physically capable of the same responses. 

Ray tipped back in his chair and shut his eyes. He smiled thinly at the thought of Stella's outrage if she found out who Ray's new someone was. 

She'd never guess it was the Mountie. 

He wondered if she'd take it well, or if she'd be pissed. Knowing her, she'd find it a personal offense... for about fifteen minutes. Then she'd shrug, consider the effect it had -- or didn't have -- on her life, and wish them well. And go on with her life without a backward glance. That was Stella. 

Ray almost wished she'd be burning with jealousy. Almost, but not quite. She hadn't left him for another man. She'd just left. 

Somehow, as horrible as it had been at the time, that thought was a slight comfort now. He hadn't been replaced by someone else. She hadn't gotten involved with anyone right away. Although he had been jealous and just slightly obsessive when she'd been going out with Orsini, he knew she was just going on with her life. She hadn't given him any reasons to be burning with jealousy. He just couldn't help it sometimes. 

Ray rocked in his tipped-back chair, and thought of how different things were now. Now that he had someone in his corner. And for some strange reason it really felt like Fraser _was_ in his corner. That constant hum of insecurity that was always just below the surface with Stella... that was gone. Maybe it was because where Ray had felt fiery about Stella, and Stella felt comfortable with Ray... now Ray fairly burned for Fraser, and it seemed like Fraser felt the same way... 

It was Fraser's passionate response to Ray's unthinking experimentation with another man that had gotten them in this situation in the first place. If that had never happened -- or if Fraser hadn't seen it -- all of this might never have happened. As stupid as it had been -- and Ray had known it was stupid, even as he did it -- he was glad that he had. Not because the encounter itself was memorable. That meant nothing to him. What had resulted from it, though -- that meant everything. 

In the usual hum of activity within the precinct, Ray thought he heard a familiar cadence. He cocked his head, eyes still shut, concentrating on that sound as it seemed to come closer. 

"Ray, my friend," Constable Fraser suddenly said, a little too loudly and a little too brightly. The surprise almost sent Ray over backward on his tipped chair. He flailed a bit before his center of gravity tipped him towards his desk. The front legs of the chair slammed back down onto the floor with a very loud thump. 

"Fraser," Ray gulped, looking around the precinct at others' reactions. But no one paid any attention as Constable Fraser seated himself in the chair in front of Ray's desk. Except Frannie, of course, who always had a reason to be tossing her head in Fraser's direction. _Poor Frannie_ , Ray thought suddenly -- she really would be outraged if she knew. Though he felt a momentary pang of sympathy for her, he also couldn't help smiling, thinking what kind of reaction she'd have. 

"Is something amusing in the offing?" Fraser said, rather formally, and again too loudly. 

"No, Frase," Ray said, looking over at the Mountie, "just a private joke." When a shadow passed across the too cheery look on Fraser's face, Ray reached across the piles of paperwork to squeeze his friend's forearm. "Tell ya later, can't tell ya now," he chuckled. 

Fraser simply froze in his position, glancing down at Ray's hand without moving a muscle. Ray belatedly realized what he'd done, and snatched his hand back. They both surreptitiously looked around the precinct. But in the usual buzz of suspects and cops and public defenders and district attorneys, no one noticed anything unusual about Kowalski and his odd Canadian pal. Both breathed slight sighs of relief and visibly relaxed. 

"Ray, I've come to tell you that I think you were right about what you said last night," Fraser began. 

__

Last night? Ray thought back. He'd said so many things last night. He blushed furiously. _What did I say last night? Which part of what I said?_

Benton Fraser looked across his partner's messy desk and watched a blush slowly creep up Ray's face from his collar. Perplexed, he raised his eyebrows. But then he realized that Ray had said a number of things the night before \-- most of them totally unrelated to the case. It was those that made the detective blush. And then, while recalling them, Fraser too began turning pink. He had been speaking of their conversation about the case and the suspect. He hadn't thought how it might sound to Ray. 

By the time Ray's embarrassment had faded, Fraser's had just begun. He blushed a much deeper shade of pink than Ray. He valiantly tried to continue. 

"Ray, ah, that is... what I was referring to was... the current case. What you had said about the case. About ways of catching the suspect..." 

"Right, right," Ray Kowalski chimed in, too quickly and too jovially. "'Course that's what you were talkin' about." 

The two regarded each other silently a moment. It was too much and they broke into goofy smiles, looking away from each other. 

"This is really silly, Frase," Ray said quietly, chuckling. 

"It is indeed," the Mountie agreed, a slight edge of humor in his voice. 

Ray tossed his head slightly to either side, trying to crack his neck. Fraser glanced at him, and their eyes met. While they sheepishly grinned at each other, Ray took out a deck of cards and began aimlessly shuffling them. Just to have something to do. 

"So, what I said about the case last night..." he began again, shuffling and re-shuffling the cards. He could look at the cards and not at Fraser, and then maybe he could think while he talked to the Mountie. Instead of picturing himself in the man's arms, instead of recalling the texture of the man's skin, the firmness of the Mountie's alabaster flesh. 

"Yes," Fraser said, clearing his throat. He brought out his notepad and Kowalski rolled his eyes good-naturedly. _Proper preparation prevents poor performance,_ he remembered. The Mountie might as well have been a boy scout. He was always prepared. 

With their conscious minds occupied by subjects other than each other, the two were finally able to converse normally. 

"You said that attempting to draw out our suspect by 'leading on' various males who fit the description in local drinking establishments might prove hazardous to your health. This is indeed a concern. Upon further reflection, I thought that perhaps we might force the suspect's hand a bit if we both played a part in the entrapment." 

"Don't say entrapment, Fraser, that's a word cops don't want to hear," Kowalski said sternly. "We're not entrapping the guy. As far as we're concerned, we're just putting me in the same position that countless victims of his have been in. It's not like a vice sting operation. I'm not soliciting." 

"Right you are," Benton Fraser agreed, relieved that they could retreat into the standard law enforcement lexicon, away from the more casual... and thus distracting... style of conversation. "Being receptive to a suspect's intimations or suggestions isn't the same as solicitation." He paused a moment. "What I was thinking, was, perhaps a greater degree of participation on my part might force his hand," he finished, looking up from his notes at the detective. 

Kowalski paused in his shuffling of the cards to look warily at Fraser. "What kind of participation?" he asked seriously. 

"Well, since the suspect appears to target men who fit a physical description remarkably similar to yours, I thought that perhaps I could do the same." 

"Ya mean, if he's hitting on me, you're going to hit on me? I thought we already decided that." 

"Did we? I thought you had asked me to consider it. I could also, as you said, 'hit on' other patrons of these bars who fit the same physical description. Thus, in effect, competing with him for the favors of said men." 

"I thought we had decided that, too?" Ray thought aloud. 

"Oh," Fraser said. He paused. "Well, I thought we'd agreed that these were _options_ , but I didn't realize we had decided to go through with them. I thought about them today while I was at work." 

"Oh. Well, sorry 'bout that Frase, I thought we were clear on that. I forgot it was under consideration. Did you want to go ahead like this?" 

"It seems the most logical way to possibly get him to escalate his behavior." 

"What if you hitting on guys like me makes 'im shrink back into the woodwork, 'cause he's normally kind of timid or shy?" 

"I don't think so, Ray. From what Daniel described, the suspect was hardly timid or shy. I think if we increased the pressure -- that is, if he were forced to move a little faster, or be a little more forceful or aggressive, he might rush into things and, by rushing, botch his attempts in a way that would be conducive to catching him," the Constable finished. 

"It could work..." Ray mulled this over. 

"I'm fairly certain it will increase the number of stressors activating this behavior in the suspect, and precipitate an attack faster than simply having you pose as bait and me along for backup," Fraser pointed out. 

"It's possible... but if you're increasing the number of stressors, or just the amount of pressure on the guy... isn't it possible his reaction would be even more extreme?" Ray worried aloud. His brow creased with concern as he looked over at the Mountie. 

"Well, yes, unfortunately, that's quite possible," Fraser sighed, glancing back down at his notepad. He flipped it shut, then looked back up at Ray. "I can only assure you that I would be there to back you up," he added more quietly. 

Ray smiled and blushed simultaneously. _What a guy,_ he thought. "Thanks, Fraser. I do appreciate that." He inhaled to begin another sentence, but Fraser jumped in before he could. 

"For example, say we are in a bar. We see a man who fits the suspect's description. He hits on you. I, observing all the men in the bar who fit the profile of the typical victim, see him hit on you. I then hit on you. The suspect gets upset, for whatever reason. His behavior escalates. Possibly in a public way, in a way that is easier to catch without endangering your life." 

"Oh." 

"And I would do the same with other men, so long as they were hit on by someone fitting the suspect's description." 

"Oh." 

Neither said anything for a moment. Ray opened his desk drawer, took out a rubber band, and stretched it around the deck of cards a few times. He put them in the drawer and closed it. He sat back in the chair, his hands on his thighs. 

"You sure you can handle that, Frase?" he asked, looking up at the Mountie intently. 

It was the Mountie's turn to gulp. "Yes, I think so," he said nervously. 

Ray affected a nonchalant shrug. "Okay, then. That's our strategy, huh?" But he wondered how well he'd take seeing Fraser hitting on other guys. 

"Right you are," Fraser agreed, his voice quavering only a little. 

"You're gonna have to do one thing," Ray pointed out, much though he didn't want to. 

"What's that, Ray?" 

"You're going to have to be convincing about it. Don't you think people will be able to tell your heart's not really in it?" 

"Oh." The Mountie examined the Stetson in his lap, playing with the brim. "I hadn't considered that," he confessed, looking up cautiously at Ray Kowalski. 

"Well, maybe it's time to take some lessons in lying from a Chicago detective," Ray smiled, trying to ease both his and Fraser's minds. "We may never make a great liar out of you, but if we can make you a really great fibber, I'll have done my job." 

"You know, Ray, you yourself aren't the most successful liar, either," the Mountie pointed out, with just a touch of amusement. 

"I know. It's a shame. A disgrace," he joked, standing up and adjusting his shoulder holster. His shoulders, he realized, ached with tension, tension only now beginning to drain out of them. 

The Mountie stood also, his hat under his arm. Ray looked down to see Dief lying around the corner of his desk. The wolf lifted his head from his paws, cocking it as if he had perfect hearing. 

"C'mon, Dief," Ray said, speaking to the wolf but gazing directly into the eyes of his partner. His friend. His... his, well, lover. _Okay, maybe we haven't really done that much. But... it's blowing my mind._ Everything about Fraser did, lately. He was surprised that when he stood and his partner/friend/lover stood, oddly, though they were the same height, Ray felt taller. _It must be more of the new me, the new life,_ he thought, smiling. 

Royal Canadian Mounted Police officer Constable Benton Fraser gazed directly back into the eyes of his erstwhile Chicago partner, thinking, _I shouldn't be doing this, but I am. I should probably feel bad about it, but I don't. What is happening to me?_ The slight smile on his partner's face made him both anxious and certain that the path they'd started down was now inevitable. And despite his dislike of thoughts of fate and inevitability... despite his terrible experiences with events that seemed fated and inevitable -- his heart swelled with a gladness that seemed so familiar. Even though it seemed eons since it had felt that way, even though he knew that, chronologically, that was not the case. 

Chapter 14: Up For That 

As they climbed into Ray's assigned car, Fraser realized he was still in his uniform. 

"Ray," he said. Dief climbed into the back. "Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray," the Mountie repeated patiently. 

"Huh? Sorry, Frase. Got my mind on other things." 

Constable Fraser carefully didn't ask what those things might be. 

"We'll have to stop by the Consulate, so I can change out of my uniform." 

"Oh, yeah. No problem." 

There was a moment of silence. Ray jiggled his shoulder in discomfort. 

"Is something wrong with your arm, Ray?" 

"Nah, I just got this knot in my back, right between my shoulder blades. Can't shake it. Guess it goes away pretty much when I'm standing, but sitting... Ouch." 

"Well, Ray, I might be able to help." 

"I bet you could," Ray offered slyly, giving Fraser a sidelong glance. 

The Mountie blushed. 

"It is so good to see you blush, Fraser," Ray Kowalski sighed, looking over at Fraser. He hitched his sunglasses up on his nose. 

Fraser thought it a most endearing unconscious habit, but he thought he should probably keep that to himself. Ray seemed somewhat sensitive about coming off as, as Ray would say it, a nerd. Yet it was a gesture that touched Fraser with its seeming vulnerability, knowing as he did that it was from Ray's near life-long need of corrective lenses. He remembered Ray taking them off in the crypt while he waited for Marcus Ellery to show up at his mother's funeral... 

Ray had continued to speak, but Fraser realized he'd been completely lost in his own thoughts and hadn't heard a word. 

"I'm sorry, Ray, I wasn't quite paying attention," the Constable began. 

"Aha, so you've got _your_ mind on other things, too, huh?" 

"Well, not in the way of-- well... yes." 

"S'all right. I was just saying that it's... nice that you blush. With all you've seen so far in Chicago, I can't believe you still can. But then I can't believe you're always givin' these punks a fair shake and assuming they're innocent 'til proven guilty." 

"But they are, Ray, according to your Constitution," Fraser pointed out earnestly. 

"Yeah, yeah, I know, but no _cops_ really believe that." 

"Perhaps that's one of the problems that has plagued law enforcement in the US of late," the Mountie offered. 

"Oh, I don't think it's just US cops. I've watched that show, you know, that show that's on late on Thursday nights. 'Mounties!' it's called, but those guys are just like American cops. The only ones in serge are the ones that open and close the show! And they're always doing some kind of stupid crime bustin', like underage drinking. Please! Send 'em down here where we've got some real crime to take care of!" 

"Well, Ray, you'd be surprised that there really is crime of a serious nature in... Why are you looking at me that way, Ray?" 

The detective just shook his head and smiled. "Just cuz you take everything so seriously, Frase. I was just razzin' ya." 

"Ah." 

"Here we are," Ray said more quietly. "Should I wait in the car?" he added with some trepidation. He wasn't sure he could stand in the consulate or anywhere near the parlor, without exploding from embarrassment... and the excitement of remembering what had happened between them the last time they'd been there. 

"Of course, not, why would you..." The Mountie trailed off. "Oh." He hesitated. "I believe Turnbull's still on duty, Ray. And of course nothing's going to happen." 

"'Course!" 

"Okay, then." 

Ray parked illegally, and good-natured as always, Fraser mildly pointed it out as they strolled up the consulate steps. The detective smiled dismissively, saying it was necessary in case he got called in suddenly and urgently. They entered the building. 

"Turnbull, my man." 

"Detective. And how are you this fine day?" 

Ray shook his head at Turnbull's typical friendly, outgoing, and cheery greeting. 

"Nothing a hot tub wouldn't fix," Ray replied, seating himself carefully on the carpeted stairs. Fraser strode on past Turnbull to his room at the back of the consulate. 

"In what sense do you mean?" Turnbull asked quizzically. 

"Nothin'," Ray shrugged off his coat, grimacing as the knot between his shoulders momentarily tightened. "Aaaaahhhh..." 

"Ah, I see," Turnbull began, but the detective interrupted him. 

"What is it with you Mounties, that you always gotta be going 'Ah' and 'Oh' ?" he asked irritably. "Did you all have doctors with tongue depressors for fathers, or is it just a Canadian thing?" 

"Actually, Detective, I believe it's simply a matter of vernacular..." the young constable began. 

"Forget I asked," Ray began, and attempted to lay down, rather awkwardly, on the stairs. "I just need to stretch my back out." He felt the edges of the carpeted stairs like soft jabs in his back. It sounded horrible, but he wondered if this was what the Rack had felt like. It must have really sucked to be stretched on a Rack... but at this point, it was starting to sound pretty good to him. At least, the stretching part. And as long as he could say when to stop -- and they'd stop. 

"If you don't mind, I think I could actually help you with that." 

"With what." 

"With your back, Ray," Turnbull said, standing up from his seat behind the front desk. 

"That's okay, Turnbull, just stay where you are," Ray began, but the Mountie was already grasping his wrist and hauling him to his feet. "Turnbull..." Ray continued, about to get really pissed, when the Mountie turned him completely around, to face away from him. 

"What the hell're you doin', Turnbull?" Ray said, too achy to fight much. 

"Cross your arms across your chest, like a mummy," the young Mountie commanded. 

"Turnbull... c'mon. I really don't think..." 

"Believe me, Ray, if you'll cooperate, I'll have that back of yours fixed in a jiffy," Renfield Turnbull said brightly, encouragingly. 

"Oh, jeeze," Ray began, half-heartedly crossing his arms over his chest like a mummy. 

"Are your hands on each opposite shoulder?" 

"Yeah, Turnbull, they are--" 

"Now, don't move. Just relax and breathe. Think of the color yellow." 

Ray took a breath, and then before he could exhale it, the young Mountie was up against him, from behind, his arms wrapped around Ray. Holding Ray's arms firmly to Ray's chest, crushing the detective against him, Turnbull picked Ray Kowalski up, and then made as if he were going to drop him -- but didn't. The ensuing jerk of Ray's entire body from the shoulders downward released a series of quiet cracks from his spine, like the cracking of knuckles... 

"Hey, what the hell, Turnbull!" Ray began, but just as Turnbull was setting him back on his feet, Fraser strode back into the foyer, in jeans and a dark sweater. He held his brown leather jacket, and looked at the two men... young Constable Turnbull with his arms still wrapped around Ray, Detective Kowalski, _his_ Ray... 

But a quick once-over and he realized there was nothing going on here but Turnbull's usual misguided efforts, and some obvious annoyance on Ray's part. 

"I was just, ah--" Turnbull began, releasing Ray and backing away from him, slightly embarrassed. He hoped Constable Fraser didn't think anything untoward was happening. 

"Cracking Detective Kowalski's back, yes," Benton Fraser replied, "I can see that, Turnbull. Well, Ray, did it work?" 

The detective, still shrugging exaggeratedly -- jeeze, he thought, don't let Fraser get the wrong idea from this! -- rolled his shoulders and paused. "Yeah, uh... actually, it seems like it did," he admitted sheepishly. 

"Wonderful," Fraser said, completely deadpan, not looking at Ray at all, but directly at Turnbull, who dropped his eyes. 

Ray got a slightly uncomfortable feeling. The tension in the air thickened, as Ray picked up his coat from the stairs and shouldered into it. "Uh, thanks, Turnbull," he muttered. 

"Not a problem, Detective. Happy to be of service," Turnbull replied, with just a tremor in his voice. He looked up briefly, but Constable Fraser still stared at him. He dropped his eyes again, clapping Ray on the shoulder and stepping back behind his desk. He could still feel Fraser's eyes on him. 

"Lock up when you leave, Turnbull," Fraser said tonelessly, and then the two were gone, a slight gust of air the only thing left of them after Fraser shut the wooden door firmly behind them. 

Turnbull breathed a long sigh of relief. He wasn't sure what Constable Fraser had objected to, but he was sure he'd objected to something... and he sure didn't want to encounter that unwavering, piercing stare from him again, for a _long_ time. 

* * * 

They walked to the car in silence. A typical Chicago winter, late afternoon/early evening... already getting dark. Ray opened the door for Fraser, in an uncharacteristically polite and almost chivalrous move. Fraser's eyebrows arched up at Ray in question . A mock-scowl and good-natured shove into the car were Ray's reply. Chivalrous, indeed. The detective would never want Fraser to think he could be so... "Canadian". Fraser suppressed a smile. 

"What're you smirking about?" Ray's voice poked at him as they both settled into the car. 

"Oh, nothing." 

"Nothing, yeah, right. It's never nothing with you, but this time I'll let it slide, Fraser," Kowalski said, cranking the engine. The sunglasses came off after the engine kicked in, and he gunned the engine while tucking them into an inside pocket. Turning, he realized his every move had just been catalogued by the Mountie beside him. 

"What're you lookin' at?" The words were confrontational, but the tone was affectionate. 

"Stanley Raymond Kowalski," the Mountie answered, somehow managing to be somber and cheery simultaneously. 

"Right. Well, let's grab somethin' to eat, what say?" 

"That sounds good, Ray." 

"Okay. How about... well, you like a smorgasbord, right?" 

"I'm not sure... is it Swedish?" 

"Well, there are Swedish ones, but I was more thinkin'..." 

"Polish." 

"You got it." 

"Well, Ray, I'm on for that." 

"Up, Fraser." 

"Up." 

"Up for that." 

"Up for that, yes. I am up for that," the Mountie repeated. 

Ray shook his head and smiled. As bad as Frannie at botching terms... But the heat emanating from that side of the car was like no heat he'd felt from -- or for -- Frannie. He looked over at Fraser. 

The Mountie looked at him expectantly. "The smorgasbord?" 

"The Red Apple, on Milwaukee." 

"Right you are." 

"You're gonna love it, Fraser. And they got an all-you-can-eat dinner special -- so you can stuff yourself on sausage, pierogies, potato pancakes, beet soup with kluski...." 

"Ah. It sounds delicious." 

"Well, I'm sure it's not like those brown lichen tarts, and Polish food is really bad for your cholesterol.... But really good." 

"I'm sure it is. Shall we?" 

"No prob," the detective smiled, gunning the engine for effect, and then dropping the car into gear as he did so, so that the standard issue, blue unmarked car leapt from the curb into the street with a grinding squeal. 

"Ray, I do believe that's not good for the transmission," the Mountie began. 

"Transmission, shmansmission. Since when are you an automotive expert?" 

"Well, Ray..." 

Fraser looked good out of uniform, Ray reflected, listening to the warm voice, and glancing over at Fraser every once in a while. He had long ago tuned out the specific words, and could only concentrate on weaving through the rush hour traffic in the darkening city -- and on those perfect lips. That Superman jaw- line. The perfect hair -- looked like one continuous piece of plastic. Maybe he could use what Fraser used on his hair, to make sure his hair stayed up. But then, wouldn't it be somethin' to mess up that perfect hair... Maybe fog the windows up a little before hitting the streets tonight. 

"Ray, you just went through another red light." 

"It just turned red. It was yellow when I started." 

"No, that was the last one." 

"Oh." 

"Perhaps you'd better concentrate on driving." 

Ray chuckled. "As if." 

And, on cue, the Mountie blushed again. 

"Fraser. When this case is over... I mean, not that I don't want to _now_ , but everything's gettin' bunched up together and I'm tryin' to keep my head straight on this job, and we can't mix things up too much while we're on it, dammit--" 

"I think I understand, Ray." 

"Oh." Pause. "You do?" 

"Yes." Benton Fraser moved over just slightly. He would have gripped Ray's forearm for a moment, but Ray was driving with one hand, that hand being the right hand... So he briefly squeezed Ray's somewhat bony knee, and then backed off to his side of the front seat. 

The detective braked a little too hard, jerking both of them. His pants were suddenly too tight. 

"Sorry," he muttered, and tugged at the crotch of his pants, trying to make room. "Think you're cute, huh, gettin' me all excited?" he growled at Fraser, with a sidelong glance of amusement and lechery. Damn, but he couldn't believe the zany way Fraser made him feel. Or how hot he got, and how fast. _Because he was on your mind anyway... you wanted him. And he fell in your lap, not just body, but... maybe body and soul. And you better be grateful because Life rarely, if ever, allows this to happen._

"I didn't mean it that way, Ray, really--" The Mountie began, slightly embarrassed. 

"Oh, I know, Fraser. I'm just givin' you a hard time." 

"Ah." 

"Cuz I can't give you the other kinda hard time, right now..." 

Blush. Again. Right on cue. 

This was good. This was right. Ray felt his chest expand, suffused with a happy warmth from inside. Flirting. He hadn't flirted in years. At least, not successfully. If he ever had. Mental muscles -- oh, all right, fine -- emotional muscles were being flexed by this thing with Fraser. Some for the first time ever, some for the first time in too long -- far too long. 

This was no fling. No cute bust he could lean on for a date and possibly an over-nighter. No more of them. You couldn't get this feeling from them. You could only get it from being with someone who meant something to you. Someone who thought you meant a lot too. 

He knew he was smiling like a complete goofball. He couldn't help it. 

Burnham Triangle, Chapter 15: Rushing Headlong Into Something 

He didn't often flash that full, spectacular smile, the Mountie reflected. He watched his partner, his... lover (only stumbling slightly over that in his mind). "Lover" seemed... premature, since they had yet to do many things Fraser was well-acquainted with. Things that Ray was tantalizingly-- and eagerly -- new at. 

A momentary image hazed over Ray Kowalski's profile, a silhouette with a much larger nose. Fraser looked away, out the window, shaking his head to dislodge the image and knock his thoughts off that useless path. He ruthlessly clamped down on that closed chapter, unwilling to face the anger and pain of Vecchio's sudden departure. _So be it_. 

Here, with a bright and shiny smile that he knew he himself had inspired, was a volatile, earthy, and transparent (not to mention giving, tough, and very sexy) man. And this man _wanted_ to be with him, _needed_ to be with him. And he saw how his own desire for Ray Kowalski swept the frequently dark and somber look from Ray's eyes. How that look seemed rarer and rarer lately. 

Giving came much more naturally to Benton Fraser than taking. If he were honest with himself, a great deal of his own self-worth came from helping and pleasing others. But it wasn't just that with Ray Kowalski. No, the touching gratefulness and awkwardly flattering admiration Fraser felt Ray direct towards him at times -- times well before all this -- truly affected Fraser. He ducked his head, admitting to himself that he'd come to depend on that. 

If Vecchio had been like an older brother, then Kowalski had come to be like a younger brother. Fraser had hardly realized how possessive he'd become of his friend -- how much he needed Kowalski to lean on him. Until he'd seen Ray leaning, so to speak, on another man, a stranger, in a public bathroom of all places, for needs he thought Fraser could not meet, would never meet, would despise if he knew of them. 

And Fraser had overreacted upon seeing that. He still felt terribly ashamed -- and wasn't sure whether it was more because he'd utterly lost control, because he'd almost blown their cover, or because in the process of losing control, he'd revealed to Ray -- and to himself -- an intensity of feeling he'd planned to never foster for anyone again. 

And then, after the extreme reaction \-- _based on, admit it, jealousy_ \-- Fraser had further astonished himself by impulsively kissing Ray. He hadn't meant to -- he wasn't even thinking about it, he was still upset about the other man and the risk Ray had taken. And then suddenly his mouth was on Ray's, as if by its own volition, and he cringed internally, thinking Ray would never forgive him, wondering why he couldn't stop himself. He, Constable Benton Fraser, unfailingly polite, and certainly never one to be impulsive or otherwise not in control of himself -- here he was, revealing himself to be 1) out of control with a jealous reaction, no matter how he might want to couch it in terms of protectiveness, and 2) suddenly incapable of controlling his desire as well. 

But in those naked moments when he was unmasked \-- by himself! he thought, half-bitterly -- when he and Ray Kowalski had been eye to eye... He had wanted to run away. He had curled up inside, preparing for the blow he knew he deserved. He had wanted to die for being foolish and stupid enough to let go his tight hold and exposing his real feelings in all their raw and primitive force. "Unbecoming" was perhaps the mildest term he had for his inappropriate behavior. 

Thank heaven Ray had reacted the way he had. Fraser didn't think it possible he could ever accept that he was as capable of such displays as any other human being. But Ray's passionate response went a long way to easing his painful humiliation -- and swept him far ahead, into a territory he associated with bad consequences. 

Shockingly, not only were there no bad consequences, it seemed to have a good outcome. Fraser distrusted this as a matter of course, but in the warmth that unexpectedly came out of it, he cautiously admitted that this might possibly be what they called a silver lining. Something that happened to other people, but not to him. At least, not until now. 

Fraser recalled the tight-chested feeling he'd gotten in the consulate, seeing Ray in Turnbull's grasp. Though it no doubt was perfectly innocent, the first sight of it had provoked in him a great tension and swift anger... which was, of course, unwarranted. And which had required freezing every muscle until he knew what exactly was going on. And of course it was absurd to think that Turnbull had any knowledge of recent events between Ray and he, much less any designs on Ray. Even more absurd to think Ray could find anything remotely interesting about Turnbull. Other than occasionally arguing about curling, just to get Turnbull's blood up. 

Ray had said and Fraser believed it to be true that when he was with someone, he was _with_ someone. Faithful. Not in so many words, but in between the lines of things Ray had said in the past, he knew Ray had never been with anyone but Stella throughout his marriage to her. For that reason alone, knowing that Ray now considered himself to be _with_ him, Fraser, the Mountie knew he should trust that Ray was his. That no one could take him. That he wouldn't be so easily tempted, that he wouldn't leave. 

Of course, the simple fact that Ray was by far the more smitten of the two of them ought to guarantee that if there was any leaving, it would be the choice of Fraser; which of course he would never choose to do. 

Ray had opened his life to him. Though he would never have taken advantage of it, Fraser thought perhaps the detective was a little lovesick. Yes, this was entirely different than what few experiences Fraser had to compare it with. For once, he wasn't the one hopelessly smitten. 

Whether cunningly manipulated by -- _Her_ \-- seductive wiles, or buffeted by the ups and downs of Vecchio's regard for him and for himself and what their coupling meant in the context of his life and upbringing... Fraser had never quite felt this... secure. Which made his over-reaction to Turnbull even more wrong. 

Oh, _She_ had kept him on pins and needles, as the saying went, feeding him pleasure with one hand, and pain with the other. But mostly it was the pleasure, and the hesitant belief he'd had -- briefly -- that perhaps he _deserved_ such unearthly pleasure. 

He'd never before been given so much pleasure. Well, of course, she had been the first-- well, the only -- but it was more than that. He had expected to work for love. And to work for her pleasure. To hold off his own, as he knew he was supposed to. And, truth be told, self-deprivation was the way he'd lived much of his life. He'd never guessed a woman would find pleasure in pleasuring him. 

She had, as they said, played him like a fiddle. With her hands. Her mouth. Her hands on his hands on himself. Her fingers... Nothing he'd ever read or heard, not even the infrequent romances or pulp fiction (and, oh, all right, stories of the fall of Rome) which passed through his grandparents' library, had prepared him for the physical experience. 

In an utterly decadent, artful way, Victoria tore at his surface reserve and exposed -- to him, as well as to herself -- his hidden but ravenous sensual appetite. His suppressed, but bestial, sexual nature. His naked greed for pleasure and lust and conquest and submission. His need to do anything and everything in pursuit of a self-obliterating nirvana he'd never known before. 

He'd had a brief taste of it before, with her, just before turning her in. He could only surmise it was the charged atmosphere of their reunion, the mixed emotions on both their parts, that had swept them up into twenty-four-plus hours of animalistic \-- and heavenly -- pleasure. 

Such pleasure he'd never known. He had never been much for the separation of the mind and the soul from the body. Such artificial divisions might have been drawn by early Christians and Benton could shut them off from each other when necessary -- deprivation and denial were second nature by that point in his life -- but he could not completely separate them, could not sever them one from another. When she took his body, she took everything else. 

He'd thought it must be love. What else could it be, when this wild creature ravished him and then let him -- no, encouraged him -- to ravish her in return... Whispered commands and supplications to him, to explore, investigate, to mine, to plunder every inch of skin and every orifice, with a scientist's curiosity, an initiate's delight, and the debauchery of a Casanova. 

And then she did the same to him, relentlessly and expertly... until he was near mad and barely capable of incoherently begging for the inevitable and excruciatingly necessary end to the tortuous pleasure. For her to finally slice the strings from which she dangled him, on the ecstatic edge she'd made him dance, and let him plunge into the mind- numbing stupor of his own endorphins. Surely it must be love that would inspire a woman to such extremes. Surely it must have meant that he was worthy, worthy and deserving, of such soul-stirring ecstasy. 

He could see how kingdoms and governments were won and lost that way. 

He still felt an overwhelming sense of failure when he thought of what he knew to be his fairly prodigious intelligence... and how easily it had been subverted by the chasm in his heart and soul that she filled. That he'd wanted her to fill. How utterly she'd enslaved him -- and with his initial, misguided blessing. He'd failed utterly in that relationship, in every way. The first time, the second time... failed her, then failed himself, failed to do his duty, failed Ray. The only thing that kept him from failing to do his duty the last time was a bullet that stopped him nearly dead in his tracks... like the fool he was. 

Just as well. He didn't deserve to be shot, he supposed, and of course it had been an accident -- but then, he _did_ deserve it. For being so stupid. For nearly destroying himself in pursuit of something that wasn't real, that could never work, and that he followed only because no one else had ever made him feel that way and he didn't think anyone else could. For nearly deserting his best and only friend, nearly leaving him framed to take the fall of all her misdeeds since she'd returned. As much as he chided Ray for shooting him, and as much as he would never admit it -- that bullet, which narrowly missed ending his life, had actually saved his life. 

Was it any wonder then, that he'd then latched onto Vecchio? Maybe it had begun as a kind of embarrassing and thankful \-- and entirely unspoken -- hero worship of the man who, aside from befriending him when he had not a friend in the entire city, was literally his savior. He hadn't quite realized the depth of Ray's confused jealousy of her \-- or what it meant... Nor had he realized the risks Ray would recklessly take to protect and care for him until then. He had supposed it a brotherly feeling of responsibility, motivated by what he knew was the detective's concern over his "babe in the woods" vulnerability. 

And keeping a tight clamp on his feelings -- keeping them a good, analytical distance from being _felt_ \-- was second nature to Fraser. He was as surprised as Vecchio the first time they'd literally fallen together while attempting to pursue a suspect... and mutually read the sudden, chagrined lust and excitement in each other's eyes as they'd tried to disentangle themselves. Scant hours later they wrinkled each other's clothes in a furtive, hot exploration in Ray's Riviera, rushing headlong into something -- for Fraser, only the second headlong rush in his life -- that they might both have realized was best not rushed into, had they been thinking rationally at the time. 

The feelings were there, yes, but they need not have been acted upon. Though, perhaps it had been unavoidable. For the second time in his life, Benton Fraser was helpless to resist the sexual advances of a lover. But at least these were founded on profound feelings of affection and respect, a bond that went far beyond a casual partnership or mere physical infatuation. Perhaps the silver lining of Victoria was that her actions had cemented Ray and he together in a way she could never have foreseen. 

More afraid of making any moves than ever before -- because of her -- Benton Fraser watched as if from outside himself as his partner made touchingly awkward overtures to him... and watched himself try to resist, fail utterly, and respond with an arousal and hope he tried to hide -- and tried to deny when he thought about it. He could see, now, why they called it "falling" in love. He wasn't sure why it seemed to be a farther fall for him than for other people. 

And, for a time, it had been as wonderful as he had hoped, as far from disastrous as he could ask. It might be catch-as-catch-can at times. But he became more comfortable making overtures himself, initiating things, so to speak. He remembered his thrill of delight the first time he had reached out to Ray for a quick caress -- in the Riviera, of course \-- and found Ray's response was an instant and insistent arousal. 

Their bond had deepened to a level where, even in the precinct, Ray had only to look at him in a certain way... or let his eyes wander down Benton's body... and he knew what Ray was thinking. What he wanted. He knew Ray could see it in his eyes, when he looked down at Ray's hands grasping something, and imagined that hand on him... and Ray always made sure Benny knew that he knew. 

But the logistics had been difficult at times. He felt especially guilty when he met Ray's eyes over a hot, steaming pasta dinner prepared lovingly by his very kind, but very Catholic, mother... and saw those beautiful green eyes darkened with doubt and pain. For days afterward, Ray would be moody and less than enthusiastic. Fraser learned not to approach Ray after those occasions... to wait for Ray to approach him. Oddly, sometimes Ray couldn't wait to leave his mother's, find a motel on the other side of the city, as far from his home as possible... and ravish Benton. Other times he was stiff and cool for days. Mostly he was louder and gruffer than usual, more irritable, and less tolerant of Fraser's quirks. 

But Fraser was so glad to feel alive again, and to feel safe in the warmth of love... and Vecchio was very affectionate, as well as surprisingly tender. And, perhaps not so surprisingly, rather hot-blooded and sensually skilled. Fraser had not expected things with Ray to be anything like they were with _Her_ , and they were not... 

Except that sometimes he felt that strange internal sensation, a tearing-off of a piece of himself, as he had with Victoria, when Ray kept him at the edge for a while... Kept leading him away from it and then back to it, with his hands, mouth, and beautiful dark cock, over and over until Benton could no longer refrain from throwing himself over the edge. 

The difference was, he took Ray with him when he went; and that odd chunk of himself that Ray seemed to take from him while driving him mad, came back to him when they laid in each other's arms, sweating and panting afterward. It wasn't the same soul-shattering kind of ecstasy he'd felt with Victoria. But it was very close to it. And Fraser guessed that this less-shattering but equally stirring sexual feeling must be a much healthier one. The fact that it never resulted in impossible demands, painful decisions, and difficult choices confirmed this. 

But things had gotten... gray. It was the best description he could think of. He wished he weren't thinking of it at all, but now his mind had chased all these convoluted thoughts down to the ends of their trails... and this was the conclusion he was coming to. Things became gray with Ray Vecchio, very gray. As if the color were drained out of his fiery lust. As if his heat had become lukewarm. 

Oh, the physical manifestations of arousal and pleasure were all still there. And Ray-- well, Ray could never be called cold, by any stretch of the imagination. But he became ever more distant. He wouldn't look Fraser in the eye sometimes. In repose, his expression was frequently sad. At first Benton had attributed it to something he must have said or done to hurt Ray. But Ray's repeated denials led him to the reluctant conclusion that this sadness was coming from within Ray. 

And he knew what was causing it. It wasn't just looking back over things and wondering what if things with Angie had turned out differently, instead of ending in divorce. It wasn't just wondering whether he might ever be a father. Or whether he wanted to be. 

Well, of course he wasn't going to be a father... with another man. 

Fraser, helpless to do anything but observe, hid his own hurt from Ray. There was nothing to be done. The situation was what it was.... Two men. One Italian and in most respects still very Catholic. Ray dismissed his mother's laments about his lack of a wife and her ensuing lack of grandchildren in the same tolerant, eye-rolling way he always had. But Fraser suspected it was wearing him down, as constant dripping wears away a stone. He privately worried that Ray would eventually explode under the pressure. That, as Ray would have said, the shit would hit the fan. 

What he had not expected was the way it would hit the fan. 

Benton had thought to give both Ray and himself some time apart. He fervently believed that Ray Vecchio would realize, while he was gone, that they belonged together. That they were meant to be. That there was no obstacle they couldn't overcome. And that he missed Benny -- as Benton missed Ray, as Ray occupied his thoughts on a daily basis. That he needed Benny, as Benny needed him. But instead, what he got was a cryptic phone call. No warning. No reason. Not even a real, face-to-face, goodbye. And later, a heat-sensitive picture postcard of them together. 

Fraser tried to hang on. But after that postcard... nothing. For months. No communication. The dream about Ray Vecchio -- with Ray Kowalski -- was nothing, Fraser admitted, but his unconscious wish to believe that Ray actually had realized all of those things. And would forgive any indiscretions. Was even giving permission for them (highly unlikely). And would come back. Surely the undercover Mob assignment Ray had taken would end soon. Soon. 

But reality told a different story. Or rather, he amended, reality told no story at all. The trail, as it sometimes does, went cold. And even if it hadn't, he couldn't pursue it anyway -- at least, not without endangering Ray's life. As the days went by, then weeks, then months, Fraser tried not to think about it. 

But it was rather like having a pure white draft horse in one's home... and trying to ignore it (and what it left behind). Impossible to think about. Impossible not to think about. Excruciating to speculate about... Difficult not to. Impossible not to think: what could I have done? What could I have said? To make him stay? To make him never leave in the first place? Why _did_ he leave? And leave me alone, _again_? 

This despair gave way, eventually, to numb acceptance... and attempts to paint the horse the same color as the rest of the house. He tried valiantly to consider the relationship frozen, as if they would pick up exactly where they had left off when Ray came back. As if he'd gone to the store, gotten waylaid for some time, and would come back as if nothing had happened. And they could just start where they had stopped. 

But in truth the only thing that had frozen was inside Fraser. Ray Kowalski's bumbling awkwardness and shy sweetness with Fraser had begun to melt this frozen core. And he was very much afraid that this slow process of melting -- which was beginning to accelerate -- would not only leak out his hidden needs, and reveal his self-sufficiency to be superficial (would delude him yet again into thinking he had found someone with whom he belonged) -- but would also liquefy his frozen rage at Ray Vecchio's abandonment. 

After all the leave-takings -- intentional or not -- in his life, beginning with his mother's death, Fraser had come to believe he had a dependable, stoic response to yet another. But that was just a lie. In psychological terms, he was in denial. He had come to see himself the way he wanted to see himself... stoic, surviving, self-sufficient. Grandmother's good little boy. Well, with one evening's experimentation, Ray Kowalski had blown a hole wide open in Fraser's internal armor. 

"Get over it", as these Americans said. _He left. Get over it._

He couldn't get over it. He could accept it, possibly -- but only with a fury borne of utter powerlessness to do anything about it. Only with what he feared was the rage of a dog, constantly teased with the bone just out of his reach... well, surely when he finally got the bone, he would shred it. But he couldn't do that to Ray. Vecchio didn't deserve that, he knew on a conscious level. Things changed, people changed, life went on. 

But on a deeper level, on a level where truth was subjective, where there was no objective reality, and where authenticity was a gut feeling -- he knew Ray deserved to be shredded, with the certainty that an animal knows the "kill or be killed" law of the wild. 

But Fraser could not let that happen. 

And slowly, the loneliness that ate away at his icy denial, the warmth that came from his new partner -- ironically, impersonating his lover, without any knowledge of the deeper aspects of their relationship -- and the friction Ray K. exuded, began to affect Fraser. Not without bumps in the road, of course. Not without Ray's flying off the handle. And not without a humble apology, a "tit for tat" willingness to taste his own medicine. 

And not without Ray Kowalski's careful attentiveness to Fraser, almost possessive protectiveness of him, and dogged determination to _always_ be there for Fraser -- which he was, from the time Fraser unwillingly punched him in the jaw at the lakefront, at Kowalski's own request, so he experienced what Fraser had experienced when he'd flown off the handle and hit Fraser. 

Not that he hadn't been there for Fraser before then. But there was a new... intensity to it after the incidents on the freighter. Fraser had dismissed it all as his own overactive imagination. Refused to see the signs -- why let himself in for still more misery? (Why face the fact that he was far more cynical and bitter than he would like to admit -- and than he would like to show the world?) Excused Ray's confused and longing looks as indigestion. A bad date. Brooding about Stella. 

But it hadn't been any of those. Fraser almost shuddered to think his white hot rage had nearly hurt a completely innocent bystander to his temporary meltdown, to the temporary insanity that overtook him when he saw Ray Kowalski in that bathroom stall... with a stranger doing what he, Fraser, should be doing. 

And that rage in itself was a result of Fraser's refusal to admit he wasn't stoic, wasn't as frozen as he would like. It was, as they said, a "wake up call". Not just that Ray Kowalski might be the last gift Life tumbled across his path. Not just that he had been denying for weeks the things his dreams told him he'd like to do with his spiky-haired friend. But that he had better face himself. And how he really felt about so many things. 

It was like a huge burden he was afraid to put down because he was afraid he wouldn't be able to pick it up again. But a burden he also felt he'd collapse under, if he didn't put it down... felt he couldn't continue to carry much longer... before something broke. 

Somehow, he had a gut feeling, a whispered intuition, Ray Kowalski was the key. Not "the answer", but... a catalyst. For Fraser to finally face the task of tearing down the crumbling, decrepit armor he'd built up around him in the decades leading up to this point in his life, broken and patched here and there as he outgrew it (and then stubbornly refused to stop using it). 

With some planning, and with some courage and hope (bolstered, he secretly admitted, by the blond detective), perhaps he could rebuild a better suit of armor. A flexible suit, that could be removed when appropriate. That didn't immobilize him. That wasn't frozen and rusted. 

And so, with trepidation, he held the reins of this new gift, with Ray Kowalski along for the ride. It was different than with _Her_ , and different than with Ray Vecchio. Not better, not worse... Just different. And it was _now_. 

Enough of looking back. That Bible story about Lot's wife -- what had she gotten for all her sorrow at leaving her home, for looking back at what she was losing? Turned to a pillar of salt. Yes. The kernel of wisdom, Benton Fraser knew, as with many parables, was not in the literal word for word meaning, but in the conceptual underpinning. It wasn't good for the human psyche, this looking back. Look back when you shouldn't, and you only hurt yourself. 

It was more important to know where the game was going, than where it had been. And in this case, the game was him. 

Chapter 16: Pretty New At This 

"So, which establishment will we visit tonight?" 

"Nutbush." 

Constable Fraser raised his eyebrows, but before he could say a thing, Ray said, "Don't even start." 

"Well, it's certainly a... colorful name," Fraser said mildly. 

"Colorful. Right," Ray said uncomfortably. He just couldn't reconcile the images and ideas he'd been fed all his life about homosexuals, with his feelings for Fraser. It was too much. _I'm a cop, I'm just bein' a cop on this job. I'm not really like them._

"Will that be our only stop tonight?" Fraser inquired. 

"Nah, I thought if nothing turns up at Nutbush, if it's real quiet and nobody bites, maybe the Mineshaft." 

"Ah," Fraser said. 

"'Ah'. I s'pose you mean, 'ah, another colorful name'," Ray said irritably. 

"No, Ray, actually I was just making... a listening sound." 

"A _listening_ sound? Listening doesn't make any noise." 

"No, but human communication proceeds between two or more people with a variety of subtle cues, and 'listening noises' are some of those cues." 

"Listening noises." 

"Yes. For example, let's say you said what you said, again. And I was listening, only I didn't make any sound. What would you think?" 

"You didn't hear me?" 

"Yes, or that I wasn't paying attention, perhaps. When I say something like 'Ah', or 'Hmmmm', or similar one or two syllable neutral comments, it cues you, then, that I have heard what you said, and I am prepared to hear more." 

"Ah." 

"Now you're getting it." 

"No, I'm just trying to see if those 'Ah's annoy you as much as they annoy me sometimes." 

"Now, Ray, I don't see how a simple 'Ah' can possibly be annoying." 

"When you've got a Mountie who's never wrong saying it with a know-it-all tone, it gets annoying." 

"Ah-- understood." 

*************** 

Ray pulled up a block from the bar, in an alley, and flipped off the car lights. 

"Y'okay?" he asked Fraser nervously. 

"Yes, Ray," the Mountie replied, with just a slight stammer. 

"You don't have to do anything, Fraser, y'know. I can just be the bait." 

"No, Ray, then we're just waiting for the suspect to act out. We need to be more proactive." 

"Okay," Ray said doubtfully. He scratched beneath the collar of his button-down shirt. 

"Okay, here I go. Park wherever you want. Just gimme time to get in and get a beer and case the joint." 

"Right you are," Fraser said. 

Ray opened the driver's side door and slid out, adjusting his clothes. Fraser slid over, then watched, bemused. 

"What're you lookin' at?" 

"Oh, nothing," Fraser said mildly. Ray's nervous preparations touched him, the way he worried about his looks despite a potentially dangerous situation. 

"Don't turn on the lights 'til I get around the corner \-- and wait a couple minutes after that, okay?" Ray whispered. 

The Mountie nodded earnestly in reply. 

Ray adjusted himself one last time, then buttoned his long brown coat, turned on his heel, and walked off down the alley. When he turned the corner and was out of sight, Fraser dutifully began counting mentally: one-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three-one-thousand... 

Ray swung the door of the bar open just wide enough to slip in. Though dim, the bar was warm and cozy. Every head in the bar turned, from the three or four guys at the bar, to the two guys playing darts, to the couple of men sitting across from one another in a booth. After a cursory check, the men quickly turned their attention from Ray, back to their own pursuits. 

Ray made a mental note of the handsome, dark-haired Clark Kent look-alike (but without the glasses) at the bar, a couple stools down from the others. It was a square bar that took up most of the storefront, but because it extended far back into the building, there was room for a pool table and electronic dart board behind the bar. No one was playing pool. 

The detective shrugged out of his coat and slid onto a bar stool not far from the entrance, making sure the dark-haired Christopher Reeve look-alike was diagonally across from him. He smiled faintly to himself, thinking how like pool balls he and the other men at the bar were... _I'm the cue ball, he thought, and they're the cluster of balls I gotta break up... Where the hell is Fraser_? he thought irritably, though it had only been a scant ten minutes before when he told Fraser not to arrive too soon. He sighed as the bartender, with a well-groomed salt-and-pepper beard and shining bald pate, approached. 

"What'll you have?" 

"What's on tap?" 

The bartender shrugged, and gestured at the taps. "Bud, Miller Genuine Draft, Leinenkugel, and Goose Island." 

"Uh... oh, hell, gimme a Miller." 

The bartender turned away for a moment, filling a pint glass with Miller, and then flipped a coaster in front of Ray and set the pint in front of the detective. 

"Thanks." 

"Two fifty." 

"Here." 

Ray handed the man a five and waited for his change to come back. The bartender slapped the dollars and quarters on the bar in front of Ray, and Ray lay a dollar on the inside edge of the bar. _Not good to have a disgruntled bartender_ , he thought. 

"Thanks," the bartender muttered. The ceiling fans moved slowly, hardly breaking up the smoke that wafted beneath the dropped light fixtures. Ray grimaced \-- _where the hell is that damn Canadian?_ \-- and spoke quietly as the bartender moved away. 

"'Scuse me." 

The bartender looked over his shoulder, and the other men at the bar looked over at Ray, curious. 

"Could I, ah, just trouble you for a toothpick?" Ray smiled, feeling his smile too big, too wide, too insincere. 

"Oh, ex-smoker, eh?" The bartender shrugged. "Sure." He reached in among the fruit spears and dusty drink umbrellas and grabbed a wooden toothpick. "Here you go," he said, setting a drink napkin in front of Ray and laying the toothpick on it. 

"Uh, thanks a lot, man," Ray said. But the bartender was already across the small interior space, taking a refill order from Superman. 

Ray stuck the toothpick in between his cheek and molars, and tried not to think about Fraser. _God, I can't wait until this is all over, he though. Until we have some time..._

Just then, he felt the blast of cold air as the door opened from the outside. _I won't look back, I won't look back_ , he thought -- _I know it's Fraser_. But then he realized it might look very odd if he didn't turn and look over his shoulder to see who'd come in. After all, any other bar patron would, wouldn't they? He hesitated a split second more, then looked over his right shoulder. 

Sure enough, it was Fraser, looking his usual ridiculously well-groomed, neat, tucked and buttoned self, Ray thought, in his bomber jacket. Fraser's cheeks were slightly red. Ray wondered if it was from the cold weather or simple embarrassment. 

Ray realized he might be staring too long, as Fraser's gaze slowly traveled around the bar, coming last to Ray's face. Fraser's lingering gaze on Ray made the detective realize he ought to turn around, before things looked suspicious to the other bar patrons. Fraser dropped his gaze and stepped forward, as Ray turned away. The Mountie opened his jacket and walked past Ray, deeper into the bar. 

As one would expect, everyone in the bar had also looked at Fraser. Ray noticed Clark Kent checking Fraser out rather thoroughly. Fraser sat down at a bar stool right on the corner of the square bar, equidistant between the other bar patrons and Ray. 

__

Now what did he do that for? Ray thought irritably. But a glance back at Clark Kent revealed that Superman was none too pleased with that either. 

The bartender approached Fraser as he gracefully removed his jacket and sat back down after folding it onto the bar stool next to him. Ray didn't hear what Fraser ordered, the Canadian murmured it so quietly to the barkeep. But the bartender soon returned with a Coke. In a tall glass. With much less ice than would be in a mixed drink. And a tall, thin, red straw. 

Fraser sucked meditatively on the straw. Kowalski pretended to ignore him. He withdrew the toothpick from his mouth and observed the bar in front of him, the fraying edges of the cardboard coaster in front of him, and the thin line of bubbles circling the surface of the beer in his pint glass. He picked up the beer and took a sip. Then he slid his eyes purposefully past Fraser to the two men playing darts. 

He'd been lax in his observations earlier. One of the men playing darts had somewhat long, tawny hair. He wore a t-shirt. The other wore a nice rugby shirt, striped maroon and gray... but he was lean. And blond. Ray couldn't see if his eyes were blue or not... but they were definitely light. 

__

Well, Ray thought, _there's my double. What luck. His hair could be up more, though. Needs a trim to stand up right. And that hairspray Stella used to use that works good on my hair. Then it wouldn't lay limp and flat like that._

Fraser twitched to his left and Ray slid his eyes over to him. But Fraser wasn't looking at him. Fraser was looking to his left, down the rest of the bar, at the conversation between Superman and his drinking buddy. 

His drinking buddy was a slim man with horn-rimmed glasses. _Hey, those look just like mine_ , Kowalski thought. But the conversation soon ended, and all eyes turned to the TV mounted on the wall behind the bar. It was ESPN, showing extreme skiing and snowboarding bloopers. Ray thought of the madness of people strapping thin sticks on their feet and trying to coast down snowy mountains without crashing into trees. Like that Sonny Bono guy. Snowmobiles... now there was a different story. A gunning engine on some skis, with treads like a tank... now _that_ was the way to travel quickly across snow. 

The bartender now approached Fraser. They spoke quietly, and Fraser blushed. Ray tried to look nonchalant as he chewed the toothpick and watched the Mountie turn pink. Soon enough, he saw the reason why. A new drink appeared next to the drink Fraser had barely touched. 

But surprisingly, the bartender was now standing in front of him. 

"What'll you have? Another? He's buying," the bartender said, gesturing at... _well, of course_ , Ray thought. _Superman_. But who bought the drink for Fraser? 

"Sure, the same," he replied to the bartender, and carefully looked up at the TV while noting the approach -- in his peripheral vision \-- of the dart players, who came to the opposite side of the bar. He could look directly across at them, and diagonally to his left at Superman and his pals. Fraser was directly to his left, so he was in a perfect position for observation. 

But this was so nerve-wracking. Ray watched but didn't really see a skier tumble down the side of a mountain, mini-avalanches in his wake, flailing limbs and skis, one of which broke off. He realized that Superman was giving him rather an intense look. He could _feel_ it. Instead of looking at Clark Kent -- oh, hard to get, that's how I'll play it -- he looked down from the TV to the two guys directly across from him. They were conversing, but the long-haired fellah kept looking over at Fraser. He seemed nervous. He seemed pretty young, too. 

Ray turned his head and looked directly at Superman. The man merely raised his eyebrows. 

Here goes. Here goes nothin'... 

Kowalski got up, leaving his coat behind -- after all, Fraser would watch it -- and taking his two beers with him. A small cocktail table stood near the line on the floor for the dartboard. He walked to it, deliberately ignoring Fraser as he walked past -- even though he felt Fraser's eyes on the back of his head as he walked away, walked into the back of the bar. 

Ray set his two pint glasses on the little table. He dug in his pocket for change, coming up with two quarters. He put them up on the electronic dartboard, in the little coin-shelf made just for that purpose. Then he looked over his shoulder, with what he hoped was a good "come hither" that wasn't too obvious or phony... and saw Superman looking right at him. 

Good. I guess... I guess this is good. He seems interested, anyway. Momentarily guilty, Ray flicked his eyes at Fraser, but the Mountie appeared to be engrossed in the ski bloopers on TV. Ray's eyes cut back to Clark, and he realized with a start that the man was walking towards him. 

Oh shit. Oh shit. Damn. Now what? 

"Looking for a dart partner?" Clark Kent said casually, making no effort to hide his up-and-down appraisal of Ray's... charms. 

"Uh, yeah," Ray said nervously. 

"My name's Chuck," the man said, extending his hand. 

"Ray," the detective responded. Oh shit, why'd I tell him my real name? Oh well, maybe it won't matter. The man's grip was strong and it lasted just a bit too long. Ray tried to grasp his hand in a firm "masculine" handshake, but his hand was almost crushed in Chuck's. He belatedly realized the man was a couple inches taller than he was. 

"So... cricket, or 301?" Chuck asked, releasing Ray's hand and gesturing at the dart board. 

"Oh... let's try 301 for a warm up. I haven't played in a while," Ray lied. He hadn't ever really played seriously at all. 

He side-stepped Chuck and reached for the quarters, but that strong, warm hand descended over his, and the other grasped his elbow. 

"Let me get it," Chuck said, smiling toothily. Ray felt an uneasy prickle of nervousness on the back of his neck. The teeth disappeared quickly but something about "Chuck's smile set Ray's teeth on edge. 

"Sure," he said quietly, swallowing. Shit, shit. What if I've gotten myself into more than I can... and I don't have my gun... I have the ankle holster... but that's a girly gun anyway... 

"What did you say you do for a living?" Chuck smoothly tossed over his shoulder as he put the quarters in. 

"I didn't," the detective responded smugly. 

"Smartass," the other man said, turning to look at Ray. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the dart board. Ray noticed the bulging pectoral muscles under the man's tight cotton sweater. Navy blue. Dark like Fraser's pea coat. 

"Yeah? So?" Ray tossed back. This was more like it. Sparring. But you don't want to alienate him. "I don't wanna talk about my job, okay?" he added, losing the snotty tone. 

"Law enforcement, huh?" Chuck said, shaking his head. 

Ray had to physically stop himself from letting his jaw hit his chest. Damn, this guy was good. "Is it that obvious?" the blond detective mumbled uncomfortably. 

"Yes. No. It's just... the way you carry yourself. I can tell." 

"Oh." 

"It's not a problem," Chuck added, then stepped forward. The lights blinked behind him: one player, two player. He turned and grabbed the red plastic darts off the board and stabbed his finger at the two-player button. 

Ray looked at the yellow set of darts on the cocktail table. Okay, I'm yellow, he thought, but the cowardly connotations of the color annoyed him. 

They played mostly in silence. Occasionally Chuck would grunt in surprise when Ray hit a triple-seventeen or triple-nineteen. He was no good at the bulls-eyes however -- which Chuck was. Those and the triple twenties. Periodically each would call out to the other, "Good one" or "Nice shot". 

Chuck brushed up against Ray too closely and too frequently, Ray thought, for this to be merely a casual game of darts. The detective kept trying to look over to Fraser, but his only opportunity to do so was when he was walking away from the dart board. And more often than not, Chuck was waiting for him there, standing at the throw line, just barely blocking Ray from positioning himself to shoot. So he was distracted from what was going on in the rest of the bar. 

Despite his wariness, he felt the obvious vibes Superman was putting out, and felt himself responding slightly, against his will. Hair on his arms stood up... but maybe that was an instinctual response to a threat. But that wouldn't explain the slightly turgid response in his cock. Nothing firm, of course. Despite the superficial, almost reflexive responses of his own body, it was all Ray could do not to push the man away when he got too close. Which he did a lot. 

By this time he'd had plenty of time to really examine Chuck. He was superficially like Fraser... but really nothing like him at all. 

Where Fraser was gentle and graceful, Chuck came across as tightly wound and somewhat of a bull in a china shop. He was also swarthier than Fraser. But his hair was cut short and pretty much the same way as Fraser's -- that Plastic Hair look -- and his eyes were dark. Dark brown or blue, Ray guessed maybe black-brown. In a dim bar, Ray supposed Fraser's eyes might seem just as dark as Chuck's. Might. 

And Chuck seemed more muscled and solid than Fraser. Very much more. Like someone who lifted weights regularly. Something about him seemed like... sheer coiled muscle. Like a python, waiting to strike and strangle its prey. Or a cobra. 

With every brush up against him, Ray felt Chuck's interest, and fought down the urge to jump back. 

At any rate, they were soon finished with the game. It had not been very competitive, but that was fine with Ray: he won. Perhaps Chuck had let him? 

"Come have a drink," Chuck said, tossing his darts down on the cocktail table. Ray's were still stuck in the dartboard. 

"Uh..." 

"Oh, playing hard to get, huh?" Chuck briefly showed those strange teeth again, but it wasn't quite like a smile. 

That really irked Ray. "I'm not playing hard to get. I _am_ hard to get," he said, and stomped off to the bathroom. He didn't look over his shoulder, although he was afraid the man would tackle him. He tried to walk tall and stride forcefully, but he felt thin and wispy. 

He let the door bang shut behind him, and moved to the urinal. He had just gotten his pants undone and pulled himself out when Chuck quietly opened the door. They regarded each other in the bathroom mirror. Ray heard himself pissing. 

Chuck came in silently, and shut the door behind him. He leaned back against it. Ray inhaled apprehensively, but as inaudibly as possible. 

"Sorry. I thought you wanted the same thing," Chuck said gruffly. 

"It's not that I don't," Ray said. Play it safe, play it smooth, he told himself. You want to encourage him and draw him out, remember? Don't antagonize him. He sighed. "It's just... it's been a long day. I need time to unwind." 

"You're pretty new at this, aren't you?" Chuck shrewdly assessed him. 

Ray could only gulp, clap his mouth shut, and then turn away from those eyes, those dark eyes, squinted just the tiniest bit... For some reason they made Ray think of Ted Bundy, the charming serial killer... He breathed deeply a couple times to try to relax. 

"It's okay. Everyone has to start somewhere," Chuck said with a certain smugness to his voice. 

Ray had to fight not to turn around and smack the man. He shook off and stuffed himself back into his pants furiously. He slowly zipped up, trying to stall. When he turned around, Superman was only a couple feet away. 

"So. Are you up for this, or not?" The man asked. 

Ray looked up, down at the floor, away... anywhere but the man's face. "I just... need some time," he mumbled. He attempted a smile, which felt more like a lopsided spasm. 

Chuck nodded thoughtfully. "You just need a few more drinks," he said, winking lasciviously. 

For some reason that made Ray want to shudder, but he stifled that, and let the swarthy Clark Kent open the door for him. 

He felt quite light on his feet as he walked across the floor towards the bar, knowing the man was right behind him. Just when he was turning to go around the corner and get his coat, Chuck tapped him on the shoulder. He turned hesitantly. 

"Why don't you sit over here, by me?" the dark Superman said. He gestured to where he'd been sitting. His intense gaze pinned Ray to the spot. 

Ray nodded dumbly. 

But when Ray got to the bar stool where his coat sat, there was another pint of Miller. He raised the glass to the bartender. "Thanks," he said, and guzzled down a third of it, trying to quell the quiver in his knees. 

"Oh, don't thank me. Thank Shirley Temple over there," the bartender gestured at Fraser. 

The Mountie blushed. 

"Oh." Ray didn't know what to say. Clark Kent was eyeing him from across the bar. He turned briefly to Fraser. How can I let him know I think this is the guy? Ray thought. 

"Thanks, man," he said, outwardly casual, but looking right in Fraser's eyes. I'll do what he does a lot, Ray thought. The eyebrow thing. 

He rubbed his eyebrow with his right thumb, and simultaneously flicked his eyes at Superman, while he looked Fraser in the face. 

"You're... welcome," Fraser said, with a mildly confused look on his face. Then he glanced in the direction Ray had glanced. His expression cleared in the milliseconds it had taken him to look at Chuck and look back at Ray. The tiniest inclination of his head, and Ray realized Fraser understood. 

That's buddies. That's how it's meant to be, Ray thought. Again, he was amazed and gratified at the bond between them. I don't even have to speak... he knows what I mean. 

With a much lighter heart, he gathered up his coat and took his beer and walked over to where Chuck was. Fraser knows the score now. He'll back me up. 

"Where'd you get that?" was the dark man's terse comment when Ray sat down on a bar stool next to him. He meant the beer. 

"This? Oh... that guy over there," Ray innocently gestured at Fraser. 

"Him, huh? He looks like law enforcement too. I noticed he hasn't even been drinking." 

He never drinks, Ray almost said, but then caught himself, literally biting his tongue. He shrugged to cover his wince at the pain now throbbing in his tongue. 

"Whatever. When you finish that, let me know," Chuck said. He threw an arm casually over Ray's shoulders, but it felt like iron to Ray. 

There was no mistaking Mr. Dark Superman's intentions now. 

Chapter 17: Would-be, Soon-to-be, Hopefully 

But Ray smiled a bright, false smile at "Chuck" and tried to keep his limbs from tensing with suspicion. Fortunately, he felt quite wide awake and alert, despite the beer. The situation provoked a slight fight-or-flight response in Ray. His body responded , his heart rate jumped, and the adrenaline sharpened his body's senses. 

Ray belatedly noticed the long tawny-haired guy, who walked slowly around the bar with the lean blond in the rugby shirt. A swift glance to his right -- over the steely arm around his shoulders -- revealed them on either side of a somewhat perplexed and obviously embarrassed Mountie. Ray smiled, suppressing a chuckle. It figures, he thought. Fraser's trying to hit on people, and they're hitting on him. The two younger men kept leaning back to have a word with one another behind Fraser's back, and then leaning forward again to talk to Fraser. Fraser looked helplessly over at Ray, and though Ray felt for the besieged Mountie, he also couldn't help being amused. Amused enough to cause his shoulder to jiggle with suppressed laughter. 

Amused enough for "Chuck" to notice, and pull him roughly closer for a word in Ray's ear -- a word _on_ Ray's ear. The detective felt the man's five-o'clock-shadow like sandpaper on his ear. He felt the goose bumps rise on his arm, a ticklish spasm in his lower back, and his scalp tingled from the unexpected tickle. 

"What's so funny," Chuck murmured in his ear as Ray squirmed. 

"Nothin'... Shirley Temple over there. He's getting tag-teamed." 

"What about it?" The murmur turned to a growl; the arm around his shoulders tightened to hold him against the man's chest. Moved from around his shoulders to around his shoulders and neck. 

"Nothin'. It's just... funny. He looks pretty surprised." 

"Huh," the other man grunted, looking over at Fraser. "Another initiate," he said sarcastically. 

"I guess..." Ray trailed off uncertainly. He wanted terribly to squirm and shake free of "Chuck's grasp, but he knew he had to subvert that natural instinct and stay put, the better to catch this guy. _If_ this was the guy. He had to remind himself: innocent until proven guilty. Though this guy seemed anything but innocent. 

"Well, my friend," said the Superman look-alike, "You're done with your beer. Finish mine and what say we take a little ride." 

"A ride." Ray accepted the man's beer and sipped it. A winter lager. 

"Yeah, in a car. Got a problem with that?" 

"Whose car?" 

Superman smiled with those white teeth. "Mine, of course." 

"Where we goin'?" Ray asked, trying hard not to sound anxious. He turned to look at the man, but it was all he could do not to look over at Fraser. 

"Nowhere. Just... around." 

"Got good heat?" Ray said, stalling. 

"It's got good heat." 

"Well... " he hesitated. 

"You know you want to," said "Chuck", crushing the blond detective against him. "You just need a little encouragement. But you won't be sorry. Not right away, anyway," he added. Ray couldn't tell if he meant to be humorous, sinister, or just debauched. 

"I won't be sorry," Ray repeated dumbly. He glanced over at Fraser. 

The Mountie, as besieged as he was, appeared to be trying to have a serious conversation with the two younger men. They seemed briefly amused at his obvious discomfort, but then they, too, seemed to get a little long in the face. Fraser looked over at Ray, just as Ray was finishing the last sips of Chuck's winter lager. 

"C'mon, I'll show ya my car," Superman murmured in Ray's ear again, half-dragging the detective off his bar stool. He steadied Ray on his feet, hands on his shoulders. They were about the same height, but Ray had a sudden weak feeling in his knees. Okay, now _this_ was really going to be the hard part. How to let this proceed without proceeding too far. And his backup appeared to be seriously engaged in conversation with the young guys. They looked from each other to Fraser and back, paying careful attention. Ray tried to catch Fraser's eye. The Mountie looked over, but not obviously. Then he looked back earnestly at his two young companions. 

Oddly, they too looked over at Ray, eyes widened. That's queer, he thought, and then thought, great choice of words... Then they abruptly looked back to Fraser. Expectantly. The three huddled together more closely, and Ray felt Chuck's heavy grip on his shoulders leave. 

"Well, what're we waiting for?" The dark man said impatiently. He turned and swung on his coat, and handed Ray his coat. "Get dressed. We're leaving." He said it with an authority and imperiousness that rankled Ray, but he said nothing. Bastard is probably used to giving orders and having them obeyed, Ray thought. He shrugged into his long coat, trying to take his time. 

His eyes felt droopy. He started to feel slightly woozy. Hmmm, those beers musta hit me harder than I thought, he considered. While trying to get his gloves on, he felt a liquid smooth feeling of relaxation seep through his body. And he swayed slightly. 

__

Wait a minute... wait, wasn't there something about Rohypnol... did we ever get a tox screen on Daniel? Shit, this really is the guy! Ray thought. He spiked his beer or my beer or somethin'. I can hardly keep my eyes open now. 

He turned drunkenly and uncertainly to look at Chuck. The swarthy Superman chuckled at the accusing look he got from the dark blond detective. "Oh, so you've noticed," he said quietly, taking one of Ray's elbows. 

Ray tried to wrest it out of Chuck's grasp, and almost fell with the effort to free himself and stay standing simultaneously. But Chuck wasn't letting go. 

"I figured you just needed a little... help to lower your inhibitions. Don't you worry. We'll have a fine time... and you won't remember a thing." The man actually laughed. 

Ray hoped his momentary flailing had gotten Fraser's attention. "You bastard," he gritted out at Chuck. A sliver of a white, evil smile was the man's only reply. Then he turned Ray around and pushed him in ahead of him towards the door by Ray's elbow. Ray turned and looked helplessly at Fraser and his two young friends. _Don't give the game away_! he thought. _But I gotta let them know something's going on_! 

He realized his vision was blurring and stared over his shoulder at Fraser and the two young men as Chuck propelled him out of the bar. Even the blast of cold air on his face didn't rouse Ray. The last thing he saw in the bar was three heads, one tawny, one dark, and one blond like himself, three heads turning to follow his progress past them. The door banged shut and he was alone outside with Chuck. 

"Come on," Chuck said pleasantly, but there was no mistaking the steel underlying his superficial niceness. He now held Kowalski by the forearm, and pulled him along down the street. "My car is just around the corner," he added. 

"Right," Ray said thickly, feeling as if his limbs and body were swimming through milk instead of the bitter cold gusts of winter breezes. "What're we doing then?" 

"You'll see," Chuck said, pulling Ray along over the unevenly shoveled snow, grime, salt rocks, and concrete. He smiled to himself, a terrifying thing, Kowalski thought. If he hadn't been feeling like he couldn't keep his eyes open and could barely put one foot in front of the other, he'd have tried to get away. But his limbs felt like lead and he realized he was probably only moving in a more or less straight line _because_ he was being led. 

They turned the corner and just as they went 'round it, Ray thought he heard a dim banging sound far behind them. I probably just imagined that, he thought. The light snow, filthy as it was in spots, sparkled under the streetlights. 

His eyes kept falling shut, but he got a good look at the car. The black four-door Ford Crown Victoria Chuck pulled him to had frost on the back window. Had Ray been able to shudder, he would have -- the guy must have an authority thing, because that was definitely a cop-wannabe car. 

Chuck propped Ray against the side of the car while he unlocked it. Ray began sliding down, his knees like taffy, but Chuck grabbed him and opened the door. He shoved Kowalski into the car, none too graciously, face first. The detective could not coordinate his arms to break his fall. He sprawled helplessly across the front seat, face down. _Shit!_ he thought foggily. _Fraser_! 

"While that is a very inviting position," Chuck said, "I really need for you to sit up in the passenger seat." Ray heard the sound of fabric on fabric. He couldn't even open his eyes anymore, but he felt himself pulled back out of the car like a rag doll. 

"Just try to keep your feet under you long enough to walk around the car," Chuck said cheerily. But under that cheery tone was a hard and merciless quality. Had Ray even been able to feel his legs, they would have shaken involuntarily. 

__

Fraser, where are you? he thought. _Are you following me_? He could hardly feel his limbs moving as Chuck propelled him around the car, unlocked the passenger door, opened it and shoved Kowalski roughly in. He opened the detective's coat, unbuttoning the buttons slowly. Kowalski felt his stomach stroked. But then he heard a door slam dimly and felt the car vibrate with the aftershocks of that impact. 

"Well, this won't do... much too cold," Chuck said, climbing in the driver's door and slamming it behind him. Ray heard keys, then the sound of a car trying to start up in winter, coughing and gasping, until it wheezed and started up. "Much better," Superman said. "Now, for some heat. Not that you'll need it in a few hours," he added quietly. 

Ray dimly heard the man's comment and wondered idly what it meant. By now he was barely able to remain conscious. The only thing that he stayed awake for was to hear the sound of Fraser's authoritative voice calmly and evenly telling this guy to get out of his car. But it didn't come. 

The heater roared into life and Ray wondered at how quickly he felt warm. It was only a surface warmth, he thought dimly. Inside, he felt very cold. Maybe that was the Rohypnol. Or whatever date rape drug this guy had fed him. 

The radio came on, and he felt someone tugging at him. He realized briefly that the tugging was his belt and his zipper. _Oh boy, someone's going to help me piss. Great_. But then he realized that helping him piss was the last thing on this guy Chuck's mind. Besides, he could now feel warm air blowing over his private parts. _Can I get hard under the influence of this drug_? he wondered idly. Another part of his brain screamed, _Wake up! You're about to be slashed open and dumped in an alley_! But that part of his brain was soooooo far away. 

"Mmmmmm. Very nice." As from a great distance, Ray felt his genitals being manipulated. It felt oddly like he was being handled by a nurse. Like he was a baby. Well, he was helpless as a baby. 

Then, as if his nerve endings were about five miles down a narrow country road, he felt slow pleasure seep like syrup to coat his brain. With a very great effort, he was able to briefly open one rolling eye, and see a swift glance of Chuck's dark head in his lap. _Oh, so that's what that is_ , he thought vaguely. _What a way to go_. 

Then there was a dull, faraway pinprick, like when his callused feel had stepped on something sharp -- only in his groin. He felt a sudden increased warmth and liquid heat on his privates. He tried but wasn't able to open his eyes. It felt very far away even as it felt very soothing. And even as he felt himself slipping away. _Sleepy_ , he thought. _Sleep is good_. 

Then he felt a sudden jerk, and heard the door beside him fly open. Now, clearer than he had felt the pleasure or heat, he felt a great chill over his private parts. 

"Ray! Ray! Open your eyes!" It was Fraser's blessed voice. Ray smiled a small lopsided smile in his stupor. _He came through_ , he thought. _He always does_. 

"What the--" 

"This the guy?" 

"Yes! _Do not_ let him go." 

Someone rummaged around in Ray's coat. He felt like a doll that had been undressed, and now he was being dressed again. 

"He's bleeding an awful lot! Shouldn't we do something?" 

"I am. I'm calling 911." 

__

Oh, that musta been my phone he was getting out, Ray told himself sleepily. 

"You got nothin' on me. He's a cutter, he likes cutting. We were just having a little fun." 

"No, sir, he most certainly is not, and fun was not what you were planning on having. However, he is a Chicago police detective, and I am a Mountie, and you are under arrest." 

"You can't arrest me! You got no jurisdiction here!" 

"No, I don't. But I have eyewitnesses and the people whose jurisdiction you do fall under will be arriving shortly." 

Then Ray heard the Mountie giving an address and saying there was an officer down. _No, no, he was down on me. I wasn't down on him. I never did that yet. I was hoping... hoping I could... with you, Frase..._

"Ray, can you hear me? Ray if you can hear me, give me a sign." The detective tried valiantly to open his eyes, but couldn't. He must have frowned slightly with the effort, though, because Fraser said, "Oh, thank God. Good. Now, Ray, I want you to keep listening to the sound of my voice. I'm putting pressure on points in your pelvis because you're bleeding and I've got to stop it until the paramedics get here. Keep listening. If you can hear me, stick out your tongue if you can." 

Ray tried to stick out his tongue, but it felt glued to the roof of his mouth and the sides of his teeth. 

"Okay, you can move your lips, that will work fine too." 

The detective heard distant sirens and if he had been tense, he would have relaxed upon hearing them. However, because he was already about as relaxed as he could be, his mouth worked. 

"Yes, Ray? You're trying to say something?" 

Again, from seemingly far away, the sensation of something brushing Ray's lips came to him down a winding path and penetrated his brain slowly. He tried to speak but barely a croaking whisper came out of him. It sounded as if it came from another person. The only reason he knew it was himself speaking was because he dimly felt his lips moving in cadence with the words spoken. 

"Thanks. You saved me." 

"I would never let anything happen to you, Ray." 

"Know that. You're... best partner... and friend... and..." 

"Don't talk, Ray. Save your strength. I'm here. The paramedics are coming. You will be in good hands shortly." 

But despite the cold distance Fraser's voice seemed to travel, Ray thought he heard a tremor, a quavering of that voice. _Nah. It must just be the effect of the drug_. 

Soon he was briefly aware of many voices, of being moved, of bright light and shouting. The rag doll feeling grew heavier and heavier and he slipped away, feeling peaceful... and thinking dreamy, peaceful thoughts of Fraser's smooth, pale flesh, stretched out beside him. Fraser... 

* * * 

Ray Kowalski's pale eyelids finally stirred. Fraser was on his feet and next to his bed in an instant, grasping his hand. 

Ray yawned and stretched, not even realizing he was grasping his partner's hand until he opened his eyes fully. 

"Hey, Fraser, what's-- hey, but-- what the..." 

"You're in the hospital, Ray. You got injured last night when we were pursuing the slasher. You... may not remember it." 

Ray looked at him, somewhat alarmed. Then he realized he had a number of bandages under his hospital gown -- at his groin. He flung Fraser's hand from him and frantically ripped the blanket and sheets away from his body. He pulled up the hospital gown, not even caring who walked in, or who saw his nakedness. 

"Oh my God..." 

"It's not as bad as it looks, Ray, you've got stitches--" 

"Not as bad as it looks!? How can you say that? It didn't happen to you!" 

"I feel terrible, Ray. I wish we'd gotten there sooner, but I didn't want to blow your cover and miss catching him. Believe me, I can hardly forgive myself." 

Ray blinked at the gauze taped on either side of his genitals, and then blinked up at Fraser. In the glaring fluorescent light of the hospital, his pupils were small. But Fraser noted this with a sigh of relief, knowing it meant the drug was out of Ray's system. 

"You were there?" Ray whispered. 

"Yes," Fraser said miserably. "I had enlisted the aid of two of the other men at the bar... they came with me but we tailed you from a distance... when you got in the car it was all I could do not to run over and... well, we came up to it slowly, to give him time to... do what he was going to do... but I guess we took too much time." 

He grasped his Stetson, and looked at the floor guiltily. 

"So, like, what did he do?" 

"Well, he, ah... initially he, uh, took you into his mouth, but then he... he'd had his bottom incisors cosmetically modified into fangs." 

"What?!" 

"Yes, apparently he's obsessed with the idea of being a vampire. Hence the need for blood. At any rate, after... exciting you, he then bit you where the femoral artery passes closest to the surface of the skin--" 

"He _bit_ me?" 

"Yes, apparently he did." 

"Is this how he did all the other guys?" 

"I'm not sure. However, Daniel did identify him in a lineup. If we can get a confession--" 

Ray shook his head, lifting the gauze cautiously. He had two jagged cuts, each on either side of his genitals, in the crease between thigh and pelvis. Each was also stitched. The stitching thread stuck up out of each wound. He sighed. 

"He's never gonna confess, Fraser. That guy was one cold, calculating bastard. I doubt he'll confess unless they come up with evidence or DNA to tie him to the homeless murders or Daniel's attack. Even if they do, he's probably the type who'd deny it to his grave, even with a mountain of proof around him." 

"You may be right," Fraser replied quietly, glancing up at Ray from his hat. "I'm very, very sorry, Ray, that I didn't get there in time." 

"Hey, Frayzh, it doesn't look too bad. At least they don't hurt much. Just sore like an extra bad paper cut. It's just... _where_ it's sore." 

"Yes, I can see how that would make it... more uncomfortable." 

"Hey, all that means is I get to walk around with no pants for a while," Ray said, covering himself again, with a slightly lascivious smirk at Fraser. 

"Yes, well--" Fraser looked back down, coloring. "I don't think you can do that in public, Ray." 

"Nah... which means, paid time off! All right!" Ray paused, serious for a moment. "'Sides, Frayzh, I know you wouldn't have let him do anything seriously bad to me. Thanks for being there. You don't know how much better I felt knowing you were backin' me up." 

The Mountie looked up at his friend, his partner... his would-be, soon-to-be, hopefully lover. "Wild horses couldn't have dragged me away, Ray," he said earnestly. 

"Aw, I know. And I know it's not just cuz... I mean, that woulda been true before, before we--" 

"Yes," Fraser interrupted emphatically. 

"I know." Ray smiled sweetly, dropping his eyes. "Thanks, Frayzh. I don't know why you care. But I'm glad you do." The long fringe of blond lashes on his cheeks fluttered, and the Mountie thought he might almost cry. But then Ray's eyes popped open again. 

"So, like, how long do I have to be in here?" 

"The attending physician said probably no more than overnight. They just want to make sure there's no infection. Human bites can be very infectious." 

"Can they, now," Ray said, looking chastely away from Fraser, but eyeing him with a sidelong glance. 

"They can indeed. As a matter of fact--" 

"I'm just teasin' ya, Frayzh. I know they're really bad. Worse than dog or cat bites, they say." 

"Yes." 

They lulled into a short silence, and Ray laid back down on his hospital bed. Looking at the ceiling. Paid time off, that sounded good. Paid time off with no pants on sounded even better. He smiled to himself. Paid time off with no pants on and Fraser, would be best of all. But since nothing happened to Fraser, no doubt he'd still be on the job. He sighed wistfully. 

"Can I get you anything, Ray?" Fraser said, leaning forward anxiously. 

"Nah. Not really. Only... Just one thing..." 

"Anything." 

That made Ray smile again. He looked over at Fraser, from under his lowered lashes. "Does this door lock?" he asked quietly. 

The Mountie stood and put his hat on the chair he'd vacated, then strode to the door, opened it, checked the door jamb, the inside knob -- a handle, rather than a rounded knob. There was a lock. 

"Yes, Ray, it appears that it does--" 

"Lock it, Frayzh." 

The Mountie looked over at Ray, who looked up at him from under his eyelashes. _If he doesn't go for this, I am a complete failure as a seducer_ , Ray thought. Fortunately, Fraser was just turning the lock in the closed door when he realized what Ray meant. Again the color seeped upward from the collar of his Serge. He smiled weakly. 

"C'mon, Fraser... come over here." 

"Ray, I think it perhaps best if you--" 

"I'll lay still. I promise. Just c'mere and sit down by me." 

"I-- I-- all right..." 

He closed the short distance between the door and Kowalski in less than a second. He stood uncertainly above Ray. 

"Help me get these stupid guard rail things down, Frayzh." 

"Oh. Certainly." 

The Mountie carefully and quietly released the hospital bed rail on his side, and let it down gently. 

Ray patted the bed beside him, and moved over slightly, wincing as he scooted his butt. 

Fraser sat, feeling light-headed and as if he were a puppet, with no will or desire of his own to refuse. _Well, of course not_ , he reflected. Now that this was all over, he wanted nothing more than to crush Ray Kowalski in his arms, worried and grateful and relieved that Ray was all right, feeling guilty for not saving Ray from the situation Ray had had to get into, in order to catch the slasher. He looked cautiously at the door, which had a narrow, upright rectangular window. 

"Ray," he said nervously, "the door..." 

"What about it..." Ray was already sliding his hand over Fraser's knee, up his thigh. 

"It has a window." 

The hand stopped and was snatched away. "Oh." 

They both looked up, Fraser at the door, Ray overhead. 

"Ray--" 

"Hey, Fraser, there's a curtain. It's pushed all the way back since I'm the only one in this room. But, why doncha... pull the curtain." 

"Oh. Yes, of course," the Mountie said, ducking his head sheepishly and standing. He walked to the head of the bed and drew the curtain from behind it, and then slowly walked around the bed, arm raised as the curtain was drawn along behind him. 

Ray watched admiringly. Fraser cut such a cool figure. Those broad shoulders, strong arms. That uniform. He didn't know if he envied Fraser or was attracted to him. Well, he _knew_ he was attracted. But the wonder that such a handsome man could possibly find him attractive stole over Ray with a grateful and boyish excitement. 

The curtain drawn, Fraser paused uncertainly at the other side of the head of the bed. The guard rail was still up on that side. 

Ray wordlessly patted the bed where Fraser had first sat, looking up directly at the Mountie, with those clear, blue eyes. Fraser noted something different in them. Hopeful. Bashful. Needful. 

He walked silently around the bed and sat back down next to Ray. 

Ray took his hand. 

"Frayzh," he breathed, shutting his eyes, gripping Fraser's hand strongly. 

It was almost as if, now that they had the opportunity, they were both too shy. But a slight tug on that hand made Fraser realize Ray at least wanted one thing. One small sign of affection. 

The Mountie leaned over and, propping himself on his other hand, on the other side of Ray's slim hips, he closed his eyes modestly. Then he softly pressed his lips to his partner's. 

For just a moment -- a moment that seemed infinite -- Ray and Fraser were still, lip to lip, the mixed softness of their lips and roughness of their stubble (though Fraser's was by far the least stubbly) the only sensation between them. Other than their clasped hands. 

And then Ray moved his lips under Fraser's, and the Mountie felt his lips slowly part under the point of Ray's tongue. But it seemed all Ray wanted was to know that Fraser would permit it. He withdrew it quickly, after the briefest touch of the tip of his tongue to Fraser's. Fraser felt vaguely disappointed and yet simultaneously relieved. It was a bit nerve-wracking, here in the hospital. He opened his eyes and pulled away slowly. Ray finally relinquished his hand and Fraser used both hands to re-fasten his collar as he stood up. 

The detective lay back after first rearranging his pillows. 

"So that guy ID-ed him in a lineup?" he asked, fidgeting with the edge of the beige cotton blanket. 

"Yes, immediately," Fraser said, clearing his throat. He glanced at Kowalski, who was looking away, looking down. 

"That was one creepy guy, Frayzh. I kept wanting to push him away. It was all I could do not to kick him in the head." 

"I can understand. He seemed to get... under your skin." 

"God, he creeped me out." 

"Understandable." The Mountie shook his head. He had enlisted the other men as much to prevent his own overreaction, as to ensure Ray's safety and the suspect's apprehension. 

"It is?" Ray looked worried, his forehead broken by parallel lines. 

"It is what?" Fraser looked at him, unsure what he meant. 

"Understandable to you? That he creeped me out big time." 

"Yes..." The Mountie was at a loss to understand Ray's concern. 

"Okay." Ray relaxed, though he eyed Fraser dubiously. 

"Why do you ask?" Fraser glanced at Ray curiously. 

"I just didn't want you to think-- you didn't think-- I wanted it, did you? I mean, from him? From anyone besides you?" 

"Oh," Fraser said thoughtfully, then felt his face grow hot. He dropped his eyes, remembering his first reaction to seeing his partner in such a state, with a different stranger, at the dance club. "No, Ray, I didn't think that," he said gently. 

But he felt guilty for two reasons. One, because that fleeting thought _had_ occurred to him about Ray and the suspect, before being summarily dismissed. Two because it made him recall the first incident between Ray and a stranger. 

"Ray, don't worry about that. That won't happen again," he added quietly, looking back up at Ray. Their eyes met and Ray searched his gaze until he seemed satisfied that Fraser held no lingering resentment. 

Ray shivered. Fraser, to dispel the mood that had suddenly descended on him, stood up walked around the bed and drew the curtain aside again. 

"Ah, Frayzh." Ray smiled affectionately, watching the Mountie walk to the door and unlock it. "We coulda, ya know, fooled around a little bit." 

"It's, ah, not that I wouldn't like to, Ray. It just..." 

"Isn't the right time or place." 

"Correct." 

Ray sighed, watching his big partner as Fraser moved back to the chair on the other side of his bed. The Mountie removed his hat from the seat before sitting down. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fidgeting with his hat. 

"Fraser, you don't have to stay here all day and all night," Ray smiled at him. 

"I know that. I just-- well, I feel I should." 

"It's okay. I know you got stuff to do." 

"Actually..." the big Canadian trailed off, embarrassed. 

"Actually, what?" 

"Actually, I really don't have anything to do," Benton Fraser smiled, to himself as much as to his partner. "Nothing at all." 

"Meaning, you have no life?" 

"In a manner of speaking." 

Ray shook his head, chuckling. "Join the club, Frayzh. Are we a pair, or what?" 

They were still smiling at each other with faintly silly grins when the nurse came in. 

Chapter 18: One Foot In Front Of The Other 

"Okay, okay, Fraser, I can do the damn wheelchair--" 

"Ray, it's not exactly recommended for speeding down the corridors--" 

"Fraser, I haven't been out of bed for twenty minutes, and you're givin' me a hard time. Lemme get some fun outta this, before I actually have to stand up and lean on you to walk, all right?" 

"Oh, all right," Fraser fretted, following Ray as he zipped down the hall merrily. The lead Ray had on him lengthened as the detective pumped the wheels strongly. At the intersection of the hallway with another, Ray stopped the wheels so strongly, he was almost thrown out of the chair. He attempted to roll back, in a "wheelie" on the back two tires, and succeeded -- for about half a second, before falling forward hard. 

"Ow." 

"That should teach you, Ray," Fraser scolded, catching up with him. 

"Hey, I was cruisin' pretty good there. I can see how these guys play basketball this way, now." 

"Well, Ray, you're officially discharged, and you get as much time off as you like, with pay, injured in the line of duty. So let's get you home, shall we?" 

"That was pretty cool of Welsh, huh?" Ray asked as the Mountie took the handles and wheeled him around the corner to the elevator. 

"Yes, it was, but then, I can't think of a single incident where one of his men wound up hospitalized, where he didn't come to visit them." 

"Yeah, but... I'm not really one of his 'men'. I'm only pretending to be." 

"But you are, Ray. Besides, Lieutenant Welsh, as much as he may bark at you, seems quite happy with your investigative abilities. Your success is a reflection on him, and he is no doubt as proud for you as he is happy to acknowledge that you're one of his men." 

"Ya think so? I dunno. Anyways, I wish I'da been conscious when he was here." 

They were in the elevator now. Ray fidgeted, adjusting his robe and hospital gown. They'd given him some very loose-fitting scrub pants to wear, after he'd complained loudly that his ass would be hanging out of his hospital gown down on the street. 

"These pants are never gonna stay up, Frayzh." 

"I thought you said you were looking forward to walking around all day wearing no pants?" Fraser teased him. 

"Yeah, in my own house, fine. Not on the street where everyone can see me!" 

"But if you only do it in your own house... couldn't you do that anytime, Ray?" 

"Quit givin' me a hard time, Fraser." Ray leaned his head way back in the chair, looking up at his partner with squinted, tough-guy eyes. But it only served to amuse Fraser more, as his view of Ray was upside down. 

"Understood," the Mountie said, as the elevator doors opened. 

An orderly stayed with Ray in the foyer as the Mountie went to find a taxi outside. He soon returned and waved through the doors. The orderly wheeled Ray out through the automatic doors to the curb where the taxi waited. Fraser spoke to the cabby through the open passenger window. 

Soon enough, though, Ray was standing -- in slippers embarrassingly like ballet slippers. Thank God Huey and Dewey were nowhere nearby to see this. Fraser and the orderly supported Ray on either side as he stepped to the cab. 

It wasn't the standing that hurt. Just the walking, pulling one foot forward, then the next. The wounds were still tender, and in exactly the wrong place. Rather like getting a bad paper cut in the crease where your knuckle bends, but these were right over the tendons that joined his thighs to his pelvis. Ray sighed, leaning more heavily on Fraser, forgetting his pride for the moment. 

He sat heavily in the taxi, already feeling quite cross and embarrassed for feeling so dependent on others. It bugged him. 

"Thank you kindly, sir," Fraser said, shaking the orderly's hand. Then he turned quickly back to Ray, who was using his hands to pick up his own legs and drag them into the taxi. 

"Ouch. Damn. Ouch. I didn't think it would hurt this much. How many pain-killers did they give me?" 

"Ray, you don't want to numb all the pain, or you'll start walking and being more active than you should be, too soon." 

"I don't give a damn, I just wanna pass out when I get home, Frayzh." 

"Oh." The Mountie shut the door carefully, after making sure his partner had all limbs safely in the taxi. Then he ran around to the other side of the car and hopped in, accidentally jostling Ray in his hurry to settle in and shut the door. 

"Fraser, watch it, man," Ray said, getting cranky. 

"Terribly sorry, Ray." 

"Huh. Jeeze, I wish they hadn't cut all my clothes off me. That sucks. I liked that pair of jeans. They didn't even have to cut 'em off me." 

"Well, Ray, with all the blood, I don't think that was immediately apparent to them." 

"Whatever. Oh well, maybe I'll get a nice raise for risking my ass this way, and I can buy as many pairs of jeans as I want after this," Ray mused. 

"Possibly." 

"Ya never know." 

"True." 

They didn't speak for a moment, as Ray looked out the window. The world was quite the same, he realized. And yet it all felt somehow different. He wondered if he were having some strange, delayed reaction to the recent changes between he and Fraser -- or if it was the experience with Chuck \-- or maybe it was just the drugs they had him on. 

He wondered if Fraser regretted any of the things they'd done, then shooed that thought away. The Mountie would hardly have sat by his bed all day and night if that were the case. But then, as he thought about it, he realized that Fraser could easily spend day and night at his hospital bed, and still regret crossing that line with him. 

__

But he kissed me. He did kiss me, Ray thought. 

But then he thought, _Yeah, but like a cold fish. But then, he's not really super-warm, at least not when other people are around_. 

He fingered his robe absently, wondering about his partner, watching the traffic go by. 

Fraser looked from the traffic, which barely moved, to the cabbie, to Ray. Ray seemed to be half-day-dreaming, half-aware. He hoped that this incident didn't put Ray off physical affection... then felt himself blushing with guilt at having such selfish thoughts. _The man needs time to heal, to rest_ , he chided himself. _There's plenty of time for... other things, later_. 

"Frayzh," Ray began casually, looking from the traffic down to his lap, "You comin' up with me? I mean to my apartment." 

"Of course, Ray! I'm going to help you out of this taxi, into your building, we'll pick up your mail, and then--" 

"But I mean, uh, will you stay a while... ?" Ray said, still fidgeting with the edge of the robe, not looking at Fraser. As if he weren't expecting that much. 

"Of _course_ , Ray, I can't have you-- Oh." Fraser suddenly realized what else the detective might have meant. For the umpteenth time that day, he blushed, thinking how he had wondered about and wanted the same thing, but would never have had the nerve to ask. Not now, not with Ray in this state. 

"Oh? And?" Ray prompted him, looking sideways, and glancing at the cabby. 

"Yes, Ray," Fraser said, looking out the window. He reached over to Ray surreptitiously, hoping the cabby wouldn't notice, and squeezed Ray's forearm a tad longer than he meant to, sliding his grip slightly more sensually than he'd intended. "Of course, Ray, I'll stay a while. We'll have to make you something to eat, get you settled in bed or on the couch--" 

"That's okay, Frayzh, you don't have to cook. We can order in." 

"Understood." 

"Yeah, I'm just not up for that lichen and bark pasta tonight," he smiled, looking over at his partner, who was just releasing his arm. 

"Ray, you'd perhaps be surprised to know that I have never eaten pasta with lichen _or_ bark." 

"But you probably would." 

"That's neither here nor there." 

"I know, Frayzh... it's _out there_." He chuckled and lightly grazed Fraser's upper arm with his fist. But it was much more of a ... caress by the back of his hand, he realized belatedly, and then quickly drew his hand back, glancing at the cabby and the rear view mirror. 

"Well, Ray, actually, there are kinds of bark with medicinal purposes. Slippery elm, for example..." 

And Ray let Fraser lecture him that way, for the rest of the trip. 

*** *** *** 

"Jeeze, I didn't think I'd be _this_ tired and in this much pain!" Ray yelled, falling backward onto the sofa heavily. "Man!" 

The wolf trotted excitedly from the door to the sofa and back, making excited noises in his throat. 

"Are you all right, Ray? Did I hurt you?" 

"Nah, Fraser, it just hurts. Hurts to put one foot in front of the other, dammit. I dunno how I'm gonna even walk around this damn apartment," Ray sulked, untying the drawstring of his scrub pants. 

"What would you like me to do first, Ray? Would you like to stay here, or would you rather be in bed?" 

Ray thought of his bed, wondering when he'd last changed his sheets. Nope. Sofa was better. 

"Sofa's okay. 'Sides, ain't got a TV in the bedroom." 

"All right. Let me get some blankets..." And the Mountie was taking off his coat, and then his Serge jacket, and those broad shoulders and that strong back were visible again to Ray. He'd conjured them up in his mind so many times while the fully-clothed version had sat next to his hospital bed. He watched Fraser walk down the short hallway and open the closet by the bathroom. Then he went back to untying the drawstring. The wolf watched, then lay down by the sofa, keeping an eye on Ray. 

Now, how to get the pants off. No matter how you cut it, it would require bending over -- at the waist, somehow, without also bending at the hips, which was gonna hurt, or pull a muscle in his back. Ray eased the waist open now that the drawstring was untied. Well, it was a start. He glumly realized he might be laid up for longer than he had originally thought. Dief looked at him, cocking his deaf head. 

"Did you want a cotton blanket, or one of these acrylic thermal--" 

"I don't care, Frayzh, I just want my pillows and a blanket. And I'm takin' the back cushions off this damn couch or I won't be able to lie flat on it." 

"You could put your feet up on the coffee table." 

"I'm supposed to sleep like that?" 

"You chose the couch, Ray. Perhaps the bed would be a better choice." 

"Nah--" he grumbled, pulling back cushions out from behind him, and tossing them over the messy coffee-table, onto the floor. _Aha_ , he though, spying the remote control. He leaned over to get it, and pain shot into the front of both hips. "Ah!" 

"Are you all right?" Fraser was suddenly standing in front of him, looking alarmed, and holding blankets and sheets. 

"Yeah," Ray sighed, hefting the remote control. "I was just trying to get this." 

"Ray," Fraser began, depositing the blankets and sheets next to his partner on the sofa. He knelt down, and grasped one of Kowalski's knees. "Ray, please, try to take it easy. The less you do now, the more you can do later. If you want something, let me get it, all right?" 

The earnestness in that innocent, handsome face tugged at Ray. He swallowed a lump in his throat and replied hoarsely. "Okay, all right..." 

"Thank you." With that, the Mountie was on his feet, and suddenly hauling Ray up. With one swift move, he bent down, gently dropped Ray carefully onto his shoulder -- avoiding the depth of the crease between Ray's legs and pelvis -- and picked the detective up bodily. 

Dief barked excitedly, on his feet. 

"Uh, Fraser, what the hell are you doin'--" 

"I'm merely moving you, Ray. To the recliner chair." 

"Why?" Ray demanded. 

"So I can put the sheets on the couch." 

If he hadn't been hanging face first over Fraser's shoulder, Ray thought, he'd be reaching up to push Fraser's help away. But, as it was, he was pretty helpless at this moment, not wanting to struggle or kick. He knew it would only hurt more. He sighed, exasperated. 

"Fraser, next time, you gotta warn me. Just say, Ray, my friend, I'm gonna heave you up like a sack of potatoes--" 

"Ray, my friend, I'm gonna heave you up--" and Fraser was now setting him back down, in the recliner. "--and set you right down in this chair. Like a sack of potatoes." 

He quickly turned to the couch. Within just a few minutes, he had the fitted sheet on the seat cushions of the sofa, the top sheet and blanket on top. He drew them back and approached Ray in the chair. 

"Ready, Ray?" 

"Oh, all right," Ray said, putting his hand up. Fraser drew him up to stand by his hand, then bent down to assume the weight of Ray's body over his right shoulder. When he straightened his legs, Ray again was looking at the floor, from a vantage point some six feet in the air, alongside a wonderful view of the ass-end of the Mountie's trousers. He whistled. 

"Nice view, Fraser," he wisecracked, smiling. He held himself up slightly from Fraser's shoulder with his hands, propped against the strong back of his partner. Too much close contact, right where his hips bent, and ouch. He watched the backs of Fraser's legs, wondering what the Mountie was doing. Then he realized Fraser was moving the coffee table out of his way with his feet. 

"Here you go, Ray," Fraser said as a warning, and bent down, setting Ray on his feet before the sofa. "Have a seat." 

"Okay," Ray said, grateful, and sat down gingerly. This was all right. "Help me out here," he added, pointing at his pants. 

"What do you want me to--" 

"Pull. On the legs." 

"Are you sure--" 

"Look, Frayzh, it hurts to bend forward and pull them off my legs myself. It hurts to tuck my ass up off the couch so I can slide them off my hips. No matter which way I do it, it's gonna hurt. Now, are you gonna help me, or do I have to hurt myself?" Ray asked, getting testy. 

Fraser looked down at the resolute stare he got from his partner, and realized that this had nothing whatsoever to do with any kind of romantic intentions on Ray's part, and purely to do with comfort. Abashed, he knelt in front of Ray again. _It is possible_ , he thought to himself, _to be too innocent, to see certain things where they were not... Though technically, that isn't innocence, it was prudishness..._

"Sorry, Ray," he said quietly. He grasped the scrub pants at the very loose, baggy knees. 

"I'm gonna hold my ass up off this couch by my hands, Fraser, and you pull, okay?" 

"Right." 

Ray put his hands on either side of his hips, and picked his hips up. Fraser swiftly pulled the scrub pants down to his knees. Ray let his butt crash back down on the sofa with relief. Fraser slowly drew the scrub pants the rest of the way down Ray's thin legs. He averted his eyes, not wanting to embarrass Ray. But he couldn't help but glance at Ray's exposed genitals, an image rising in his mind of the evening in the parlor at the Consulate... 

Ray watched the color rise in his partner's face as the Mountie straightened up and wordlessly handed him the scrub pants, turning away. But the detective had an idea what was on Fraser's mind, and caught his friend's hand. Fraser turned back to him, fastening his eyes on Ray's pale face. 

"Fraser..." Ray began, then paused. _What am I gonna say_? "Wait a minute," he asked, then let Fraser's hand go, threw the scrub pants across the room into the chair, and swung his legs carefully into the envelope of sheet and blanket that the Mountie had turned down for him. He pulled the covers over his legs. 

"Okay. Now, as I was saying, Frayzh. Um... I'm, uh, you know, kind of wounded right now. But, uh, not where it counts, you know? My dick's working perfectly fine," he said, then realized how crude that sounded. "That's not what I-- I mean-- oh, hell. Do you get me here, Fraser? What I'm trying to say? You don't have to... keep your hands all to yourself..." He said, looking up at Fraser. 

With that wistful look, Fraser felt less embarrassed. _Thank goodness I'm not the only one of us thinking such thoughts_. 

He sat carefully at the edge of the sofa, not touching Ray. 

"I understand. I just don't want to-- they're still pretty fresh, Ray--" 

"But they got sutures and they're bandaged. And everything in between is workin' just fine, Frayzh." Ray ducked his head, embarrassed. He'd begun to stiffen, just thinking about the things he'd like to do now. 

"Besides," he added awkwardly, "I can, I can touch you, there's nothin' wrong with you -- that I don't already know about..." he teased gently. 

"No," Fraser said, swallowing, seeing the slight tenting of the blanket and sheet at Ray's crotch. "No, there's nothing wrong with me..." 

"But you know that's not _it_ , right? That's not all I'm after. I mean--" Ray sighed, exasperated. He wasn't at all getting things across in the way he meant to. 

"I think I know what you mean, Ray," Fraser said, laying his hand on Ray's wrist. 

"Do you?" Ray looked at him, directly, not a shred of modesty in his face, because none was required. 

"I think you mean... that is isn't just the physical that you're speaking of." 

"Yeah." 

"See, I knew what you meant." 

"Yeah. Not that I'm _opposed_ to the physical, you know," Ray added, dropping his eyes shyly. "We haven't really--" 

"No, we haven't, not much..." 

"Yeah." 

They were silent, Fraser looking at Ray, Ray looking down at the unintentional tent at his crotch. 

__

Fraser must think I am the biggest pig, he thought. _I hope he doesn't think I let my dick do all the thinking in my life_. 

__

Ray must be in so much pain, Fraser thought. _I don't know how he can even be thinking of all of this, of me, at such a time, but he is_. 

He patted Ray's wrist, then stood up. 

"Sit tight, Ray. I'll get your phone book. Let's order whatever you want. Dief," he called, and the wolf was immediately at the couch. "Keep an eye on our Ray, here," he said, affectionately, then nodded at Ray. The wolf promptly settled down at the foot of the couch, and Ray leaned over to the distant coffee table. 

"Frayzh..." he said as the Mountie began to walk away. 

"Yes, Ray? Oh," Fraser said, realizing what Ray wanted. He retrieved the remote control from the coffee table, and then pushed the coffee table back close to the sofa, leaving room for Deifenbaker. He handed the remote to Ray. 

"Thanks, Fraser," Ray said, looking up gratefully. "You're a real... friend, you know that?" 

Fraser's heart leapt at that. "Thank you, Ray... That means very much." 

"Well, ya are." 

"Thank you." 

"Now where's that phonebook?" Ray added, pretending to be cranky. 

"I was just getting it." 

Burnham Triangle, Chapter 19: About Freaking Time 

"Oh, man. I shouldn't have eaten so much pizza," Ray said with a quiet belch. 

The Mountie meticulously wiped the corners of his mouth with the paper towel he'd had to use as a napkin. 

"Heh. I'm finally better than you at somethin'. Even if it is consuming junk food." Ray smiled, a genuine smile, Fraser was happy to see. He'd been afraid Ray would blame him for what had happened. 

"I wouldn't be too proud of that, if I were you. In ten years, your coronary arteries might be very sorry you were better than me at this," Constable Fraser warned, mock-serious. 

"Hmph. You're just trying to kill my fun. Killjoy." 

"Am not." 

They finished eating in companionable silence -- except for the continual low hum of noise from the television. 

Finally Fraser spoke. 

"Ah, Ray?" 

The blond detective glanced sideways at him, through lowered eyelashes. "Yes, Fraser," Ray said, his voice a virtual come-hither purr. "What did you want?" 

"I was wondering--" 

"Wondering-- what?" 

"I was wondering if you could, ah--" 

"Could what?" 

"Could you turn the TV off? At least for a little while?" 

"What?" Ray said, indignant. That was not what he'd been hoping Fraser would ask. 

"Well, Ray, it's very distracting, and it has a rather excitatory effect on the senses after a while. Aside from the emission of x-rays from the tube, it's just generally kind of stressful to me. I'm just not used to so much-- constant racket." 

"Jeeze, Fraser, I'm not holdin' a gun to your head, makin' you watch it." 

"It's rather inescapable, Ray, at least in an apartment with an open floor plan." 

"Fine," Ray snapped, leaning over to snatch the remote control off the coffee table. "Here you go," he added sulkily, powering the TV off with the remote. 

Silence descended over the room. Fraser took a deep breath and let out a satisfied sigh. 

"Much better, Ray. I'll do the dishes." 

"Fraser-- what am _I_ supposed to do?" 

"Why don't you read a book?" 

The detective gave an exasperated sigh and threw himself backward onto the pillows. He loved Fraser, loved him like a partner, like a brother, like a friend, and-- like a lover. But the Mountie was damned infuriating at times. 

"I don't have any." 

"You do too. You've got a whole bookcase full of books, Ray." 

"I already read them." 

The Mountie stood, looking around. He spied a magazine rack near the stereo cabinet, and strode to it. Several copies of Ring World lay in it. He took two and walked back to Ray. 

"Here you go, Ray." 

"Fraser, I already read those, too." 

"Well, Ray, see if you can't occupy yourself somehow while I do the dishes." 

"How?" Ray half-wailed, already beginning to feel stir crazy. "I can't do anything, I can't get up and move around easy--" 

"Here's a novel idea, Ray," came Fraser's voice from the kitchen, along with the clattering of dishes. "Conversation. How about that?" 

"Fraser -- Frase, how're we supposed to converse when I can't even see you?" 

"Well, people manage to do it in confessionals." 

"Oh, Christ. Nice picture you've conjured up for me. I don't wanna make like I'm talkin' to a priest!" 

"I didn't mean it quite that literally, Ray. I just meant-- we can converse fine without seeing each other." 

Ray heard water running and suddenly realized something. "Fraser!" 

"Yes, Ray?" 

"Fraser, I've got a dishwasher." 

Silence came from the kitchen. Even the water was shut off. 

"Oh." 

"So just fill it up, put the soap in, and turn it on. Actually, I hope the motor hasn't seized up. I haven't used it in a while. I'm never home." 

"Ah." There was a brief pause, and then Ray heard the clattering of dishes again. "Oh, dear." 

"What now?" 

"Ray, when was the last time you opened this, ah, dishwasher?" 

"I dunno, couple months maybe. Why?" 

"I think you've developed a new strain of penicillin in here." 

"Oh, crap." 

"Not to worry, Ray, I'll have it cleaned up in a jiffy." 

"Fraser, just wipe it down, throw the dishes in, put in a lot of extra soap, and turn the damn thing on. It'll wash itself. Plus the water's hot enough to sterilize everything." 

"Are you sure?" 

" _Yes_ , Fraser," Ray said, exasperated. 

"Well, it's just that many of these apartment buildings don't set their hot water thermostats high enough -- " 

"Maybe in the kinda dumps you used to live in, but not at this place. Okay, Fraser?" 

Ray heard the Mountie sigh. "As you wish, Ray," he finally replied. 

Ray settled back into the sofa cushions and pillows with his Ring World magazines. He skimmed a few of the articles, but couldn't really concentrate. He listened to Fraser in the kitchen. The Mountie was humming something. Damn but if the guy didn't occasionally burst into song for no reason. He supposed it was some Canadian thing. Although Fraser did have a good voice and could carry a tune quite well -- better than Ray. 

But that wasn't really why he wanted Fraser to hurry up in the kitchen. He tried to calm himself. Tried to concentrate on Ring World. But the tantalizing fact that Fraser was so nearby -- and they were alone -- and the Mountie would be spending the night -- and they were in Ray's apartment, a private residence, not an official government building (like the last time) -- all of these facts conspired to agitate Ray in a way that was, actually, kind of pleasant. He couldn't remember feeling this way in ages. It was like knowing your parents were going to be gone so you could make out on the couch all night without worrying about getting caught. And you wanted to get started as soon as possible. 

Only this was better, because he was an adult and could do anything he wanted-- and it was his couch. 

He sighed, tossing the magazines onto the coffee table. Dief whined and looked up at him. 

"Sorry, Dief, I don't wanna get Fraser mad by givin' you junk food. You know how he feels about that." 

The wolf whined again. 

"I wish he'd get back here too." 

"What were you saying, Ray?" Fraser said, stepping into the room with a dish rag in his hand. He approached the coffee table, and knelt to wipe it, removing things piecemeal as he wiped the coffee table. He picked up the magazines, wiped under them, and put them down. Picked up a dusty, dirty drink glass, and wiped under it (that he did not put down). He picked up the old newspapers, wiped under them, and then, seeing the wet trail from the dishrag, put them on the floor under the coffee table for the time being. 

Ray watched Fraser's muscular shoulders move beneath his shirt. They seemed so broad and sturdy. Much broader and sturdier than his own spindly shoulders. 

"Ray?" 

"Huh?" Ray started, jerked out of his reverie when the Mountie turned toward him, dirty glass in one hand, dish rag in the other. 

"What were you saying?" 

"Nothin', I was talkin' to Dief. He was makin' me feel guilty for not giving him any pizza," Ray smiled sheepishly. 

Fraser smiled slightly as he straightened up from his kneeling position. 

"I know you really want to, Ray, but I appreciate you not feeding Dief junk food. Enough people do that already." 

"I know." 

"Thank you, Ray." 

"You're welcome, Fraser." 

"I'll be just a moment." Fraser turned to go back into the kitchen. 

Ray closed his eyes. For a moment, he had the strong urge to sit up and grab the remote control-- to turn the television on again, Fraser be damned. But he waited just a minute and was surprised to find himself listening to his apartment. To his apartment building. 

He could hear the water running in the apartment over his. He could hear Dief snuffling on the floor -- only the precursor to his incredible snoring \-- just about to slide into sleep. He heard Fraser loading the dishwasher. Heard the sounds of hip-hop music pounding in a passing car, enough to rattle his windows momentarily, even though they were shut. They'd be deaf by thirty, he thought. 

Eyes still closed, Ray heard a very quiet rushing sound, rhythmic and soothing. Then he belatedly realized he was hearing his own blood rushing in his ears. It was like that song \-- what was that song? _Blood makes noise_ was what the singer sang. 

Ray heard the dishwasher snap on, and the sound of water filling it. He wondered what Fraser was doing, but now the dishwasher made too much noise for him to hear what his friend-- lover-- whatever-- was doing in the kitchen. 

Constable Benton Fraser stood at the edge of the living room, slowly drying his hands on a terry cloth towel. From where he stood, it almost looked like Ray was sleeping -- except for a certain tell-tale alertness to his face. That beautiful, elfin face. He looked down at Ray, amazed once again at what had happened between them. Amazed that the feeling had been mutual. Feeling lucky and grateful, he stepped closer to the sofa, but could not make himself disturb the detective. What if he really was sleeping? 

Just then, Ray opened his eyes, and looked right up into the face of his partner. Fraser blushed, taking a step back, wringing his hands in the dish towel, and then turning to quickly go back to the kitchen. 

Ray sighed. If it was gonna be like this-- _Jeeze_. They were finally alone, and with no worries \-- and Fraser was skittish as a feral dog. 

"Fraser--" Ray called softly. 

He heard the Mountie clear his throat. "Coming, Ray." He reappeared carrying two mugs with tea bag strings hanging out of them. He set them down on the table and pulled his kitchen chair up to the coffee table again. 

"Fraser, what is this," Ray asked, surprised and somewhat exasperated. He turned to look at the Mountie, but Fraser was busying himself with steeping his tea. 

"It's chamomile tea for you, Ray, and Earl Grey for me. Chamomile has an antibiotic effect. I thought it might help you heal faster." 

"Would you just _stop_ , Fraser?" Ray began vehemently. The instant flinch and chagrined look on Fraser's face made him feel momentarily terrible. "Sorry, Frase. Didn't mean to yell," Ray added quietly. "What I mean is, I mean -- you gotta stop with this trying to heal me stuff and all that. I mean, I need you to do some stuff for me, but I'm gonna be fine, I think. I really don't want you to think this is your fault. It has nothing to do with you, really. The guy was a sicko. If it wasn't me he did it to, it woulda been someone else. Okay?" 

"Yes, Ray," the Mountie said quietly, setting his tea down. He held his hands in his lap and didn't look at Ray. 

"Fraser--" Ray began again, softly. 

"Yes?" The Canadian looked up at him again. 

"What're you doing all the way over there in the chair?" Ray asked quietly, looking first at Fraser's hands, and then more boldly into his face. He felt himself flush, felt his face must look guilty and slutty with desire, but he didn't care. 

"I -- uh-- that is to say -- " 

"Just get over here. On the couch." Ray swiveled his blanketed feet down to the floor. He tried to hide his wincing, but the Mountie saw it and stood over him. 

"Don't, Ray, you might reopen the stitches," he said, hovering over his blond friend. 

"Stitches! Dammit, I don't care! Sit down here with me!" 

"Ray, I -- " 

"Sit _down_ , Fraser." Ray looked up at him, half-pleading, and half-angry. 

So as not to further upset him, the Mountie sat down next to his partner. Not immediately next to Ray, but near enough. 

"Finally!" Ray burst out. "It's about freaking time, Fraser!" 

"Ray -- " 

He was silenced before he could get another word out. Silenced when Ray grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him roughly into an oddly contrasting slow, searching kiss. 

And, of course, once they began, Fraser wondered why on earth he'd been avoiding this. Intellectually, he had thought he would keep Ray at bay until he was at least _mostly_ healed. Now keeping Ray away from him seemed the silliest thing he could think of. 

Ray released his grip on Fraser's shirt, ducking his head. 

"Sorry, Frase. Couldn't help myself." He shook his head, and sat back. "I'm a pig, what can I say." 

"No, Ray. Not at all. I just-- I just don't want to do anything that might put stress on your wounds." 

"Fraser, did it ever occur to you that it might be good for me if we fooled around? I mean, to help me heal? You know, like how yer brain chemicals get going when you've got a pet -- not that you're like a pet, you know, that's not what I meant-- I just mean, you know, it could be good for me mentally, and that could help me physically heal. Right?" Ray looked at him hopefully. 

The Mountie had to smile. "Yes, Ray, actually you're right. Many studies have shown that people with a strong support network, people who experience intimacy on a regular basis, stay healthier and heal faster than those who are alone." The thought that he had not lived most of his life that way surfaced briefly, but he pushed it away. 

"Okay then," Ray said, shrugging. He smiled conspiratorially for a moment. "So then-- it could be your _duty_ to make out with me on the couch here." 

"Well, I don't know about \-- " 

"I was just kidding, Frase. But--" he trailed off. 

Fraser's eyebrows lifted in question. "But what?" he asked. 

"But it would sure be nice," Ray admitted. He felt himself smiling a goofy smile. _I probably look like a total dork_ , he thought, _but I don't care. Finally I've got Fraser here in my house_! 

"That-- that would be nice," the Mountie agreed. He glanced down, saw Ray's hands fidgeting in his lap. He reached over and gently took one. "I have an idea," Fraser began, and paused. He looked down at Ray's hand, and Ray looked at him. 

Fraser began massaging Ray's hand. First, the heel of his hand. Then the big thumb muscle. He kneaded Ray's palm. 

"Ah, ah, ah--" Ray sighed. "What-- what's your idea, Frase?" he asked, his voice rough. 

"It's a therapeutic idea," Fraser continued. He finished rubbing Ray's palm and the top of his hand, and set about rubbing each finger between his own thumb and index finger, slowly, from the base of the finger all the way to the tip. 

"What's-- what's therapeutic about it, Frase? Ah--" Ray moaned. "That feels-- man, that feels way better than I ever thought a hand massage could possibly feel." 

"That's what's therapeutic about it, Ray." 

"A hand massage?" 

"Massage in general. All over." 

"All over--" 

"A full body massage." 

"Yer kidding, right?" 

"I am not kidding, Ray." 

"You're not kidding. Jesus. Pinch me cuz I think I'm dreaming, Frase." 

"You're not dreaming, Ray. You're just experiencing the release of endorphins--" 

"There ya go, you always gotta spoil it with the scientific explanation--" Ray teased. "Oohh. Ah. Yeah. Fraser, I don't know where you learned this, and I don't even care. I'm not even gonna ask. I only have to ask you one thing." 

"What might that be?" 

"Can you, like, not stop doing this?" 

"Understood." He finished Ray's left hand, and began on the detective's right hand. This seemed right and good. He didn't feel as if he were taking advantage of Ray, and there was definitely a good reason to be doing it. Yet it allowed him to freely touch Ray all over -- eventually. He was still only on Ray's hands, but the sounds that Ray was making were-- having a decidedly arousing effect on him. 

"Fraser, this is unbelievable. Mmmmm." 

"I hope you enjoy it." 

"Enjoy it? I feel like I'm getting... I never thought a hand massage could feel _so_ good." 

The Mountie blushed, simultaneously embarrassed by Ray's forthrightness, and pleased at the effect he was having on Ray. 

His big hands were soon squeezing their way down Ray's arms, starting at the shoulders of Ray's arms. 

"Hey, how come you don't start at the wrists?" 

"In massage therapy, the idea is to get the bodily fluids and lymph moving so that toxins may be moved into the bloodstream and then filtered out by the liver. But because of the remote possibility of a clot or something being dislodged, the direction limbs are massaged is _away_ from, rather than toward, the heart." 

"Oh. Toxins?" 

"Not as in poison, Ray, but as in the usual cellular waste built up in one's muscles, that sort of thing." 

"Mmmm." Ray slouched forward and winced as bending at the waist compressed his wounds. "Ouch." 

"Here, Ray. Lie back and I'll move you if I have to. Then you won't have to move." 

"Okay. Thanks, Fraser." 

"You're welcome, Ray." 

Kowalski lay back and let his partner massage his arms, from the shoulder to the wrist. He felt increasingly like a rag doll, but he felt much warmer than he had felt. The liquid warmth in his arms made him languid. Yet he felt himself stirring with excitement. He still had no pants on-- but the blanket covered him. That was probably a good thing, but-- darn. 

__

Oh, well. If that's what this does to me, that's what this does to me. Knowing Fraser, he'll totally ignore it, Ray thought. 

Fraser began massaging Ray's shoulders and collar bones. He worked his way down Ray's chest, occasionally getting a twitch and giggle from Ray as he massaged Ray's pectorals and moved down to the lats. 

"Yer tickling me--" 

"I assure you, it is unintentional, Ray." 

"Doesn't matter-- still tickles." 

"I'll try to be quick about it." Fraser massaged Ray's sternum and the rim of Ray's rib cage. It did not, however, escape his notice that he would soon be at Ray's hips-- or that Ray was becoming more and more aroused every moment. 

"Ray, I'm going to need you to roll over--" he began sheepishly, pushing Ray's near shoulder away from him and trying to get the detective to lie on his stomach. 

"Aw, do ya have to? You were headed in the right direction," Ray's muffled voice came, as he obediently rolled over onto his stomach. The blanket twisted around with him, encasing him from the waist down, almost like a mummy. 

"Here, I'll take some of those pillows," Fraser added hastily, removing some pillows so Ray could lie flat. The blankets were now tangled around Ray's legs, but that was better than the alternative-- Had Ray been uncovered and fully naked from the waist down, he doubted he'd have continued or finished the massage-- 

"Mmmph." The detective moaned as his partner started his back massage at the top, rubbing his shoulders from a different direction than before. 

The Mountie carefully rubbed each muscle set, moving both scapula beneath the skin. 

"Mmmph. Fraser, what'er you doin'?" 

"Massaging the muscles across your shoulder blades." 

"Oh. Mmmm." 

Benton Fraser moved downwards, paying special attention to each vertebrae with "the inchworm" massage down along Ray's spine. 

"Yer making the hair on the back of my neck stand up, Frase." Ray wriggled his hips slightly, tilting his buttocks up slightly to make room for the aroused organ he was now laying on. 

Fraser continued to strongly work on Ray, progressing down to the sacral vertebrae -- at Ray's hips and extending below-- 

"Ahhh." Ray moaned. Fraser was driving him nuts. There was nothing really sexual about this, and yet his cock was swollen and he felt a languid voluptuousness, an instinctual desire to hump something. 

The Mountie tried to stay on Ray's buttocks for as little time as possible-- it was too tempting to linger and he did not want to take advantage of Ray. But he was as thorough as he could be in as brief a time as possible. The big gluteus maximus muscles on Ray weren't so big, but they must nevertheless have been stiff from sitting-- because Ray let out a stifled yelp as he massaged them. Fraser lightened up on his touch, not wanting to provoke a ticklish response, which would negate the relaxing effects of the massage. 

He continued along the sides of Ray's buttocks, the hollow spots in each cheek, and then down on the side of Ray's hips. The backs of the detective's thighs were now in his hands-- and he could be a bit rougher and firmer. Ray moaned nearly continuously now, but not gutturally. They were oddly comforting moans. They seemed to be saying that he was doing everything right, which he hoped he was. 

By now, he was at Ray's calves and these had been in need of massage. Ray again nearly yelped as Fraser pressed into them, so he again lightened up, and stroked long firm strokes down the lengths of the calves, relaxing the muscles. Then, when they seemed relaxed enough, he began using his thumbs again. 

Ray moaned. 

Fraser wished, not for the first time, that he had earplugs. It was getting more difficult to ignore the hungry sound to Ray's moans. _You're imagining that,_ he told himself. _You hear what you want to hear_. 

At Ray's ankles now -- and thankfully almost done -- Fraser began to massage Ray's feet. 

"Mmmmm. Oh, _man_ , Fraser. Who'da thought a foot massage could make your _scalp_ tingle?" 

"Those who discovered reflexology." 

"Mmmmm--" 

The Mountie finished by massaging each individual toe between his thumb and index finger, and massaging the spaces between the toes. It was a bit more difficult than it would normally have been, because of Ray's socks. But Ray moaned throughout, abandoning himself to the pleasure and relaxation. With one last firm stroke down the arches of Ray's feet, Fraser finished the massage. 

"I'm total Jell-O, Fraser. God, that felt so good." 

"I'm glad you liked it." The Mountie rose from the couch, wriggling slightly. His pants felt too tight now, too. 

"Where ya goin'?" Ray asked, but did not roll over. He seemed content to lie on his stomach on the couch, feeling like Jell-O. 

"Just to heat the water for some more tea. I'm afraid our tea has gotten cold." 

"There's such a thing as a microwave." 

"Ah. Very well, I'll try that." 

"Fraser--" Ray paused. 

"Yes, Ray?" The Mountie asked. 

The blond detective turned his head so his other cheek lay against the sofa, and he could look at Fraser. 

"You are coming back to the couch when you're done, right?" 

"I-- uh-- Yes." He blushed. 

"Good," Ray responded, smiling a naughty smile. 

While Fraser reheated their tea and put another pot on, Ray could not help gently thrusting his erection against the couch beneath him. But it was short-lived -- too painful in the creases where his legs met his pelvis. _Damn it_ , he groaned to himself. _I want this so bad and it hurts. Maybe if I had a pillow--_

He reached for one of the pillows Fraser had removed. But before he could tuck it under his pelvis, he'd have to untangle the blankets. He struggled for a moment, then gave up. He was too tangled, it hurt to twist his hips, and he didn't want to lose the lovely feeling of relaxation and calmness. 

Fraser soon returned. 

"Frase, can ya help me out here?" 

"With?" 

"I'm kinda tangled here-- don't worry, I'm not trying to get out of the blankets-- just to get 'em straight. But it hurts to twist this way--" 

The Mountie set down the mugs of tea on the coffee table again. 

"Certainly, Ray. Now, hold still a moment." 

Ray lay still and waited, while Fraser studied the situation. 

"All we have to do is roll you in the opposite direction of how you originally rolled, and we'll have things straight again." 

"Won't be the only thing straight--" Ray muttered. But he didn't press it. "Okay, so, just move me that way and momentum should take care of the rest, right?" 

"We'll see." Fraser rolled him back the way he'd come. The blanket was still twisted round Ray's legs, but less so now. Fraser grasped the bottom edges, pulled them away from Ray, and then straightened them and lay them back down over Ray's legs and feet. 

"That's better. Thanks, Fraser." 

"You're entirely welcome, Ray. Now. Won't you please have some tea?" he asked as politely as possible. 

Ray looked up at him from under the long fringe of his blond eyelashes. A simultaneously sweet and seductive look. "Okay, already, Frase, I'll have some tea." He pushed himself up with his hands, and the mound between his legs, though softening, was still prominent. Fraser blushed but said nothing. 

He handed Ray his mug of chamomile tea. They drank in silence, looking over their mugs at each other. Soon they were both grinning foolishly. 

"I'm done with my tea, Frase." 

"Would you like some more--" 

"No. I think you know what I want." 

"I, I, uh, yes, I think I do." 

"And what would that be?" 

"Uh, that, that would be--" 

"That would be-- _you_. Here on the couch. With me. As soon as possible." 

"Right you are--" 

Chapter 20: Well, It's Not Casual 

Fraser slowly got up and walked to the sofa. He sat down next to his partner. 

Suddenly, it seemed quite amusing that Ray was naked except for his socks -- and the blanket, of course. 

Ray saw his partner smiling, his eyes cast down at the floor. 

"What's funny?" 

"You're only wearing socks." 

"Hey, that's what my mom used to say when I would go out on dates with Stella in high school. 'Keep your socks on'. I figured, I could do anything I wanted -- as long as I kept my socks on, it was kosher. The first time we had sex, I still had my socks on," he ended wistfully, thinking how innocent they'd been way back then. 

But now he had that feeling back -- with Fraser. That I-don't-know-what's-gonna-happen-but-I-can't-wait-for-it-to-happen feeling. 

Fraser looked up at Ray, and they smiled at each other shyly. 

Ray reached for Fraser. Putting his hand on the back of the Mountie's neck, he closed his eyes and tugged Benton Fraser to him for a hot, wet, soul kiss. He kissed Benton slowly, gently tonguing his partner's mouth. Slowly he felt Fraser's hands move to hold him, slipping around his back... as his other arm slipped around Fraser's... 

Ray broke the kiss for a moment. "Fraser." 

"Yes, Ray?" 

"Fraser, can you lay me back? I can lay back, but if you lay me back, it won't pull on the muscles under my--" 

"Certainly, Ray." The Mountie supported Ray's back as he slowly settled Ray back on the couch. 

"Hey, that was good. I didn't even have to wince." 

"Good." Fraser began to settle on Ray, gingerly, afraid to put all his weight on the injured detective. 

"You got an awful lot of clothes on, though, compared to me. Doncha think that's a bit unfair?" Ray teased, kissing him. 

"Oh-- well, uh--" 

"I can fix that." Ray reached up and began undoing the buttons on Fraser's long-sleeved shirt. For a moment, he almost wished Fraser were wearing the red Serge uniform -- just because the sound of that Velcro collar being ripped open seemed like it might be the most erotic thing Ray had ever heard. 

"I, I guess you can..." Benton Fraser let his shirt be drawn down over his shoulders, holding himself up from Ray, so as not to put too much weight on Ray. His shirt tails were slowly and sensually drawn out of his still buttoned pants. The friction aroused him further. 

"There," Ray said, peeling the shirt off Fraser until Fraser had to shake his arms out of the sleeves. Ray drew the shirt off him, and threw it on the floor. Then Fraser's t-shirt came off quickly and easily. 

He resumed sliding his hands up and down Fraser's body, front and back, as he pressed his lips against the man's shoulder. The feel of his partner's smooth, warm flesh was so exciting. Yet he felt Fraser tremble slightly. 

"What's wrong, Frase?" Ray pulled back slightly to look at his partner. 

"Nothing, Ray, why?" 

"You're... Well, you're trembling." 

"Well, I'm trying not to put my full weight on you--" 

"Why not?" 

"Well, I don't want your stitches to--" 

"Fraser, I'm dying to thrust against you, but I can't. It's gonna hurt." Ray paused, looking Fraser steadily in the eye. "But you can thrust against me." 

"Are you sure that won't--" 

"Do I have to _beg_? God, Frase..." 

"No. No, you don't have to beg," Fraser said quietly, and slowly let his entire weight settle on Ray. He closed his eyes and lay his forehead against Ray's. 

"Mmmm. You feel... really hard," Ray whispered. The solid weight of his partner, half on him, half on the couch, felt good. But it was nothing compared to the hot hardness he felt pressed alongside his own. There was just the slightest twinge of pain, since Fraser's erection was pressed almost against one of Ray's stitched wounds. But the exciting feeling far outweighed the slight pain. 

"I am." 

"Good. Me too." 

"Yes, I can... feel that." 

"Press harder, Frase," Ray whispered. 

The Mountie thrust his hips with a slow, measured increase of pressure. Ray felt his excitement climb another notch, although there was a slight twinge of pain. Fraser's erection was resting right against one of his injuries. 

Fraser felt the muscles twitch in Ray's forehead, and pulled back and opened his eyes. The tail end of a wince lingered on Ray's face. 

"Did that hurt? That hurt, didn't it. I'll stop." 

"It didn't hurt! Well, not much. It felt really good, though! The good feeling is way bigger than the little twinge..." 

"No, Ray, I've got to stop," Fraser said firmly, then felt guilty as he saw Ray's face fall slightly, with disappointment. 

"But it feels so good. Damn it. I'm gettin' so excited..." Ray closed his eyes, exasperated. He was frustrated, excited, disappointed, but feeling foolish. His hands had slid down Fraser's back to his buttocks. He kept a steady pressure on Fraser's buttocks, kept Fraser pressed to him -- but didn't increase the pressure. 

Benton Fraser looked down at his partner's expression, the almost waif-life look Ray had right now. Ray often had that impish look -- though not right now. A thought occurred to him. 

"Ray, I have an idea." 

The detective's eyes flew open, and his forehead screwed up in anticipation. 

"We could, ah," Fraser continued quietly, "we could lie on our sides, with you in front of me. Then if I press against you, I'm not pressing against your injuries, but you'll still feel me, and I can... feel you with my hands," he finished, his voice dropping with mixed embarrassment and excitement. The picture this conjured in his mind was rather exciting, truth be told. 

"Well... well, okay," Ray said, but he still looked disappointed. 

Fraser, who had been about to sit up, stopped. "You don't want to?" he asked gently, but he felt a bit disappointed too, if he was disappointing Ray. 

"No, no, it's not that I don't want to. I just wanted to be able to look at you, to see you. That's all." Ray's voice was quiet, but he smiled a wistful smile. His eyes seemed very light in the bright but indirect illumination from the window. 

Fraser was touched, and suddenly emotional. To cover it, he swallowed and quickly bent his head to kiss Ray. He lingered slightly, and soon Ray was kissing him back with gusto. 

They broke the kiss, then, and Fraser sat up. Ray lay there, looking passively up at him. To Fraser, it was disconcerting. He was -- oh, bother, he didn't want to think about that, but here it came -- he was used to having a more active partner, he was used to being passive himself. _Well_ , he thought, _a man must stretch himself occasionally_. Though this was hardly the kind of stretching he would have expected. 

"Fraser." 

"Yes, Ray?" 

"Take this blanket off me." It was not a request... it was more of a command. Well, that was fine, too. 

"All right..." Fraser trailed off, blushing. "Ray, could we..." he trailed off, a bit embarrassed. 

"Could we what?" 

"Could we close the blinds?" 

"Completely?" 

"Well... more than they are now? Much more?" 

"Are you trying to make sure that no one can see us, or that it's dark?" 

Fraser ducked his head. Ray could be maddeningly accurate at times. "Both, but... mainly I'd like it darker in here." 

"Well, they're not light-blocking blinds, Fraser. If you want it really dark, we'd have to throw something over the window..." 

"No, no, that's not necessary..." 

Dimly Ray remembered some song from a CD Stella used to listen to. It was chick music, but there was something haunting about the singer's voice. One of the songs... all he remembered was "we will play, with chairs, candles and cloth, making darkness in the day..." 

"No, it's okay," Ray decided, smiling up at Fraser. "We'll make it dark in the day." 

"Thanks, Ray," Fraser smiled his relief down at his partner. 

"Well, you get the stuff... there's blankets and towels in the closet where you got the sheets and blanket for me..." 

But the Mountie was already striding down the hall. 

Ray felt the arousal languidly seep out of his body as he watched Fraser bring a kitchen chair to the window and stand on it to hang a blanket over the top of the frame of the Venetian blinds. He marveled at the perfection of Fraser's physique, the way his naked torso V-ed down to slim hips and those perfect buttocks. Fraser's jeans did him much more justice than those pants with the yellow stripe down the legs. Ray supposed he'd never stop wondering what Fraser saw in him -- but apparently, Fraser saw _something._ And that was good. 

Darkness fell across the living room as Fraser tucked the blanket around each side of the blinds. 

"Well, you wanted dark, now you got it," Ray joked. Light from the kitchen fell indirectly into the living room, but not much. 

Fraser hopped down from the chair, picked it up easily (a solid wood chair, Ray noted -- not a light, flimsy thing) and strode back into the kitchen. Ray heard him rummaging around in the kitchen drawers. 

"You lookin' for something?" he called after Fraser. 

"Candles," Fraser replied. 

"Oh. Not in there. In here. The drawer in this end table. It's too small for anything else, so I keep candles and matches there in case of a power outage." 

"Oh," Fraser said, striding back into the room. He went straight to the end table, and opened the drawer. The majority of the candles were tapers... he preferred the few short, fat votive candles. He took three out and a book of matches. 

"Have you got any candle holders for these?" he asked, turning back to Ray. 

"Uh, I don't think so. Just use a plate or something, whatever you find..." Ray replied lazily. He looked as provocative as he could. Fraser colored slightly, but smiled a secret smile. Not that Fraser ever looked wicked or lascivious, but this was as close as he might ever get, and Ray found himself responding to the hint of wickedness. 

But Fraser strode from the room once again, back to the kitchen. 

Ray sighed. He settled on stroking himself, slowly, loosely, not thrusting into his own hand... just stroking to maintain some level of arousal. He felt his pelvis getting warm under the blanket. The slow, steady rhythm got him serviceably hard again, but there were no fireworks or anything. Fraser was necessary for that. 

He heard Fraser re-enter the room, but he just closed his eyes and kept stroking. He heard the Mountie move about the room, placing three small saucers in various spots around the room. Over the fake fireplace. One on the end table. One on the coffee table. 

The sound of fabric on fabric pulled Ray out of his increasingly languorous caresses of himself. He opened his eyes, to find Fraser looking down on him with a strange expression on his face. He stopped stroking his cock. Was Fraser mad? Sad? 

"What?" he asked cautiously. 

"Nothing," Fraser said quietly, and sank to his knees next to the couch. Ray was suddenly engulfed in a tight, rocking hug, his mouth covered and possessed by the suddenly ardent Mountie. The feverish kiss ended as Fraser lay Ray back down, and slowly drew the blanket off his partner. Ray's fully erect penis shone in the candlelight, the skin silky and slightly reflective, the moisture at the tip glistening. 

"Fraser... B-Benton," Ray stammered. "Take off your pants." He rolled onto his side away from the Mountie, feeling shy, facing the back of the sofa, ready for Fraser to lie behind him. He heard Fraser stripping his pants. But then Fraser's big warm hands were turning him on his back again. 

"Wha...?" 

"I've got another idea, Ray," the Mountie said, still in his boxers. They tented over his erection. He slid Ray over slightly, and then lay on the outside edge of the sofa, curling against Ray. He draped his upper thigh over Ray's legs, thrusting his erection against Ray's bony hip. "See, this way I don't press against your injuries, but we can still... see each other." He tried to smile, but he felt rather serious. 

"Good thinking, F--" 

Ray stopped himself. He wanted to call him Benton. _Fraser_ was what he called Fraser all the time. This was different -- he didn't want to call Fraser what everyone else called him. Although he supposed that he'd said "Stella" when annoyed as many times -- maybe more -- as he'd said it in a moment of passion. 

"Fraser, do you like being called Fraser? Can I-- can I call you Benton?" 

Fraser kissed his forehead, wrapping his arms around the slim detective. He crushed Ray to him, feeling the insistent hardness of his own erection in his boxers, and the sharp bones of Ray's hip. 

"You can call me anything you want, Ray," he said breathlessly. 

"Oh, don't say that. I just wanna know if it's okay. Somehow, calling you 'Fraser' just seems... well, everyone calls you that. It's okay, there's nothing wrong with it. It just seems ...kinda distant. Casual. This is... this is... well, it's not casual." 

"Yes," Fraser whispered, holding Ray. They looked at each other, Ray giving Fraser a searching look. "It's... intimate," Fraser finished, feeling a bit foolish. _Intimate_. So many syllables to express such a simple thing: closeness. 

Ray nodded. "Yeah." 

"Benton is fine. Hardly anyone ever calls me Benton. It will be just fine." Fraser smiled. 

Ray smiled a tentative smile. "Okay, cool." Then he leaned towards Fraser and they were kissing again. Ray slid his hand over Fraser's hip, feeling the boxer shorts. He slid his hand farther down, between their bodies, to squeeze his lover's erection. Fraser let out a long sigh and let his head fall back. He thrust into Ray's hand. 

"Why doncha take those shorts off, Fraser..." 

"Yes, all right..." 

Fraser swiftly slid off the couch and stripped the shorts. In the dim candlelight, without his glasses, Ray couldn't get a good look at Fraser's cock... but he would, he decided, get close enough later... 

The Mountie lay back on the couch, pressed up against his partner. He wrapped his arms around Ray again, draped his leg over Ray's thighs... and started rhythmically thrusting against his partner's hip again. 

"Benton..." Ray said shyly. 

"Yes, Ray..." 

"Give me your hand..." 

Fraser let Ray grab his hand. Ray drew it down and gently pressed Fraser's hand around his erection, his excitement rising. Fraser squeezed Ray's cock, and Ray moaned. He had wanted this for so long. _Finally_! Finally it was happening. He closed his eyes, not realizing Fraser had closed his, too. 

His partner stroked Ray, slowly and evenly, which was most maddening. Coupled with the simultaneous thrusting of Fraser's cock into his hip, Ray was becoming very aroused and tense. He tried not to thrust up into Fraser's hand, knowing it would hurt, but eventually it became instinctual. He knew he was wincing with every thrust but all that seemed to matter was the friction, the feeling of his lover's hand on his cock. 

Fraser was slowly sliding down alongside Ray's body. He didn't want to think about the last time he'd done this -- he didn't want to. But the thoughts came unbidden. Of course. He'd only ever done this sort of thing with one person: Ray Vecchio. It was irritating. He wanted to be fully with Ray Kowalski! Completely there, in this moment. Not thinking about someone else. 

But thoughts of the last time he and Ray Vecchio had done this -- in some blighted motel on the south side, by the race track in Cicero -- kept flashing through his mind. The awful creaking of the bed. Ray's perfunctory grunts and moans, his solemn and unexceptional orgasm. The confusing sense of sadness he'd had as they coupled. 

Benton Fraser opened his eyes, determined that _nothing_ would interrupt his time with Ray Kowalski. If he kept his eyes open, he would see only what his eyes saw, not the last time he'd done this. He would see Ray Kowalski. He _was_ seeing Ray Kowalski, whose eyes were squinted shut and who was biting his lower lip. Occasionally he moaned or inhaled sharply, and his chest would puff out. 

Yes. He would watch Ray, while he did things to Ray that Ray had never experienced. And he would know, eyes wide open, who he was with. He would not think about other times, another person... 

Fraser had by this time slid down -- and gently pushed Ray farther up to the other end of the couch -- so that his mouth was almost level with Ray's navel. He began kissing Ray's hip bone, and he heard Ray gasp. One glance up at his partner's face, and he smiled. 

Ray had raised his head, and was staring at him with a wild-eyed, surprised, and somewhat awestruck look. 

"Fraser, what're you doing?" 

"Well," he paused, slightly embarrassed, "what does it look like I'm doing?" 

"It looks like... like you're gonna go down on me." There was an undercurrent, an edge to Ray's voice, an edge of... what? 

He paused. "That is all right, isn't it?" 

"It's more than all right!" 

"Oh! Well, all right, then." Fraser slid his legs off the couch, so that he was kneeling on the floor next to the couch. "I'll hold your hips so you don't thrust up and hurt yourself," he explained quietly, gesturing. Then he firmly grasped Ray's hips, pressing them into the sofa cushions. 

"Oh, man..." Hysteria? Could that be the edge to Ray's voice? No, not hysteria... Fear? No... 

Fraser began with little kisses, around Ray's navel, which jumped entertainingly. He lightly stuck his tongue in Ray's navel, and was rewarded with a jerk of excitement. Fraser kissed around his hands on Ray's hips, around the butterfly bandages over Ray's injuries, down where Ray's thighs met his pelvis... kissed down the man's lean and iron-hard thighs. 

He kept his eyes open. 

"Oh.... _Benton_..." Ray whispered as his partner nuzzled his testicles, which were drawing up slightly. He felt the warm wet tip of Fraser's tongue lick up between his balls, forward from the back. He writhed, and Fraser, true to his word, held his hips down firmly. Ray's thighs parted slightly, involuntarily. 

But Fraser kissed those tightening testicles, moving his kisses up the shaft. The kisses turned to nibbles, the nibbles turned to licks. Ray's cock was so beautiful. Skin so soft -- it sounded cliche-ish, but it was true -- like a baby's. Almost always covered and protected from the elements, it made sense that it would feel that way. Fraser glanced up at his lover's face, but Ray had thrown his head back, and Fraser could only see Ray's throat working, his Adam's apple bobbing as he moaned and swallowed. 

The Mountie gathered the saliva in his mouth towards the front and slowly, softly slid his mouth onto Ray. 

An small cry burst forth from the shuddering body beneath him. 

But the Mountie held on, held Ray down, and slowly slid his mouth dutifully up and down Ray's organ. He covered his teeth with his lips and wished that he could let go of Ray's hips so that he might caress his testicles, but... 

He carried on, Ray whimpering, moaning, and shaking beneath him. Fraser increased his speed, tightened the circle of his teeth and lips, and maintained a steady, fast stroke. 

"Fraser... Benton... oh, my God..." Ray bucked beneath him. Fraser firmly pressed the man's hips down and maintained his rhythm. 

"God... oh God..." The hands in his hair were rough, but Fraser didn't mind. He tried to drink in each detail -- the very small pot belly that pooched in and out with Ray's ragged breathing, the way the darkness of Ray's pubic hair lightened as it spread away from his genitals, into leg hair and stomach hair, into that small ribbon that ran between the navel and the cock. Ray must have been a runner or done track sports when he was young. His thighs were like iron. 

"Let go, let go, I'm gonna, I'm gonna--" Ray begged, and this time Fraser did let go. He let his hands go to Ray's cock and balls, as his mouth continued to work, further urging the detective on to his inevitable climax. Ray's hands tightened in his hair, and Fraser heard the sharpest intake of breath he'd ever heard from Ray -- 

And then the hot liquid was hitting the back of his throat, and he was swallowing reflexively, swallowing and swallowing -- 

A strangled gasp burst forth from Ray's bucking body, turning into a wrung-out moan. His body shuddered for a few moments, each little tremor slightly less violent, as Fraser slowly and carefully removed his mouth from Ray's cock. He assumed it must be hypersensitive; that always happened to him. He caught his breath. 

He realized the muscles in his neck felt sore and slightly strained. Before he could stretch, though, he felt hands under his arms -- he was being hauled bodily onto the couch -- onto Ray. He clumsily half-fell on Ray, worried that he might hurt his healing cuts. 

But Ray appeared not to notice. He kissed Fraser tenderly, tentative at first \-- then bolder and deeper, almost probing. 

__

Oh, Benton thought, and felt the heat rise in his face. _He's tasting himself in my mouth_. 

The hands on the back of his neck soothed the tension in his neck muscles. He broke from the kiss, laying his head down alongside Ray's neck. He could hear -- could feel -- the strong, fast throbs of Ray's heart. The detective's torso pulsed under him. 

Chapter 21: It Is Only Natural 

He lay on Ray for some uncountable time, feeling the heavy, quick throbs of Ray's heart slow and soften. The heat of their bodies was making it sticky with sweat between them, but Benton felt no particular need to move. 

Finally, Ray stirred slightly under him. 

"God." 

Fraser sighed, happily. His own organ had begun to deflate, and he felt his excitement draining slowly... and yet he was content. Momentarily he reflected that, if procreation or the sex drive were the only motivating factor for human sexuality, he should certainly not be feeling as happy and content as he was, whilst also feeling his arousal slip away. _Therefore the intellect and the emotions must not be entirely ruled by the primitive sections of the brain -- though they can certainly be overruled by them..._

"Fraser," Ray said, and Benton felt the sound resonate through his body -- he was, after all, laying on Ray. "Benton..." Ray trailed off quietly. 

"Yes, Ray," Fraser said, without lifting his head. 

"How 'bout you and I switch places?" 

The Mountie moved swiftly, sitting up at the edge of the sofa. 

"I'm sorry if I was crushing you, Ray," he said. 

"Oh, that's okay. I mean, you weren't," Ray shook his head, continuing. "That's not why I asked." He attempted to sit up, but his limbs felt even more like Jell-O now than they had after the massage. 

Fraser grabbed his hands and pulled him up to a sitting position. He couldn't help but notice the flesh of Ray's thighs spreading out on the sofa cushions... but not by much. The man was so lean. Thin, really. The moment that thought hit him, he felt a twinge in his heart for Ray. He knew it wasn't necessary, and yet he suddenly felt protective of Ray. Fiercely protective. 

"Thanks, uh, Benton," Ray said, still trying to get used to saying it. "But anyway, what I was thinkin' was..." 

He half-closed his eyes and leaned suddenly towards Fraser, who momentarily leaned back, surprised by the sudden move. Ray paused, opening his eyes, and watched Fraser move slowly back towards him. 

That made him smile. At first Benton had pulled away. But, no, he wanted it too... 

The kiss began softly and then hardened; his tongue was hesitant at first, and then rougher. 

His hands moved up the firm flesh of his partner's arms and Fraser's arms went around him. Ray was delighted to feel the heat emanating from Fraser, from his lap especially, growing. He let one hand meander through the short, fine hair at the back of Fraser's head, and leaned the Mountie back on the sofa as his other hand meandered down his partner's torso... 

With the sharp intake of his partner's breath, Ray knew his firm grasp of Fraser's cock was having the desired effect. It bloomed in his hand, lengthening and hardening. 

Fraser pulled his mouth back from Ray's. "Ray, you don't have to--" he began. 

"I want to, Frase," Ray whispered back. "Let me try..." 

"But--" 

He was silenced by Ray's firm kiss and even firmer strokes. For some reason, just anticipating Ray's mouth... Fraser shivered. 

Ray's hand moved from the back of his partner's neck to his shoulder, down to his smooth pectorals and the tense muscles of his abdomen. With both hands now, he stroked Fraser. The Mountie began to tremble and then Ray's mouth pushed against his harder. Benton finally got the hint -- their mouths parted and he lay down on the sofa. 

Ray's shining eyes took him in completely, from head to foot... his hands never wavered in their soothing, rhythmic strokes. 

Fraser felt suddenly very helpless. But instead of it feeling scary and powerless, he felt warm and cozy and was becoming extremely excited. 

Ray's hands manipulated his organ deftly. He looked from Ray's face to what Ray's hands were doing to him, and felt the hot flush of blood in his face. With one hand, Ray stroked him hard and moderately fast. Periodically he paused and then his other palm slid around and around on the slick head of Fraser's cock. The pleasure was excruciating. Then Ray would stop that, and go back to fast strokes again. Fraser lay his head back, closed his eyes and moaned. 

Ray slowly stopped moving his palm, and slowly stopped stroking Fraser's cock. His partner looked up just as he was gingerly sliding his buttocks off the sofa to the floor, propping himself up on his hands until his elbows stuck up pointedly. He let his butt hit the floor quietly as he let go of the sofa, and then used his hands to turn himself and push up onto his knees to kneel. 

He looked up to see Fraser watching him. The look of amazement and anticipation on Fraser's face shyly excited him. He leaned over and kissed Fraser again, though he'd intended to kiss his chest, stomach... 

Fraser kissed him back, but then Ray's mouth was suddenly gone... and then Ray's lips were on his chest, his hands stroking down Fraser's torso. He felt Ray lightly suck his nipples while a hand grasped his cock again and began stroking firmly again. His back arched involuntarily and Ray's mouth more insistently sucked his nipple before moving down, kissing down his jerking stomach to his navel. When the wet point of Ray's tongue dipped into his navel, he hoped there was no lint. But he hardly had a chance to think that before he felt Ray's breath and lips grazing his pubic hair... 

The detective slowly kissed the very spots on Fraser which had been slashed on him -- the tender crease between pelvis and thigh. His cheek brushed the cock he was stroking. The heat and musky smell of Fraser's erection, his balls, were irresistible. 

__

I know I don't know what I'm doing... but I know what I like, Ray thought. He slowed his strokes, shortened them, and then stopped them altogether. He felt Fraser inhale slightly, but all Ray could think was, _I'm going to do it. I'm actually going to suck his cock._

He kissed the shaft, at the root, the scratchy, musky hair tickling him. And then he kissed all up the side of it. The skin was so silky and smooth... the flesh under it firm and hot. Finally, reaching the head, he grasped the base of Fraser's cock again. 

A moment's hesitation -- during which he glanced back up at Fraser, who looked both shocked and pleased -- and then Ray opened his mouth and took in the head of Fraser's cock. 

Fraser moaned from between clenched teeth. 

Ray tasted Benton's slick, salty pre-ejaculate. _There's no going back now_. An odd thought flashed across his mind -- _why do women object to this so much?_ And then he instantly forgot that and settled into pleasing his partner. 

He tried to remember the things he liked, how he had liked Stella to do it to him. He covered his teeth with his lips and maintained a good level of suction as he slid his mouth up and down. _Hmmm. I can only fit so much of it in._ He tried opening up the back of his throat, but it was hard. It almost made him gag and his eyes teared. 

All the same, Fraser was shaking and whispering incoherently now. _I must be doing something right_ , Ray thought. He settled for assisting with his hand in the same rhythm as his mouth, trying to keep an even -- and fast -- pace. Like he himself liked it. 

Fraser's stomach tensed and loosened, rising with sharply inhaled breath and falling when his breath burst from him. Ray could see Fraser's balls tighten, drawing up... _Okay, now I know why women might not like this,_ he thought. The muscles of his mouth and neck were getting sore and tired. As if he were at the dentist and had to keep his mouth open as wide as possible for a very long time. 

"Ray... Please... I'm..." Fraser broke off, unable to continue. 

Ray doubled his pace, hoping this would bring Fraser off. 

"Ray-- ummmm-- Ray--" Fraser put his hand over Ray's, and took control of the speed and tightness of Ray's strokes. Though he subtly tried to urge Ray off him, Ray's mouth was still moving over the head of his cock when Fraser finally spurted, gasping and moaning. 

Ray couldn't swallow it all. Some of it spilled out of his mouth. He had been in such a position that Fraser came on his tongue, rather than in the back of his mouth. The bitter salty taste of Fraser's come tingled on his tongue... and Ray was secretly very pleased with himself. _I can't wait to do this again._

He collapsed forward, stretching his arm across Fraser's thighs and laying his head on his bicep. _I am eye to eye with Fraser's balls,_ he thought. _If anyone had told me, six months ago... hell, six weeks ago... I'd never have believed this would happen._ He closed his eyes, lay there, and caught his breath. 

Fraser felt the soothing pleasure spread across his whole body. His hand released his cock and quickly found Ray's cheek, his jaw. He stroked it gently, feeling grateful, surprised... happy. 

It had been almost just like his dream. So much so that a strange feeling of deja vu had come over Fraser when Ray looked at him across his stomach, right before taking Fraser's cock in his mouth. That had definitely been in his dream of Ray... it seemed so long ago now. 

__

So, if I saw it first in the dream, he thought slowly, feeling Ray's slightly rough three day beard, _then maybe that means it was 'meant to be'?_

"Whew," Ray whispered. But he did not move from his position, draped over Fraser's thighs. 

Even though it was just the tiniest bit uncomfortable, because he was sweaty under Ray and beginning to itch, Fraser didn't move. Somehow this seemed so right and he didn't want to break the spell. 

Fraser wanted to speak. He wanted to sit up and crush Ray to him and thank him for being so brave even though he had never performed oral sex on a man before. He felt guilty, as if somehow he'd manipulated Ray into doing it. _But, he said he wanted to do it... he could have stopped if he wanted to stop_ , Fraser reminded himself. _He didn't, so it stands to reason... he liked doing it. No different than me._ But that made his face feel hot again. _I liked it with..._ He didn't finish the thought with the name of the only other man he'd done this with. _I didn't just like "it". Just because I still like "it" with Ray Kowalski, doesn't mean anything... except that it felt right with Ray Kowalski._

"Fraser..." Ray began. 

"Yes, Ray," his partner responded immediately. 

"I don't think I can sleep on this damn couch. Not the two of us. Can you take me to my room and I'll try to clean it up? And then we can both sleep on my bed." 

"You could stay on the couch, and I could sleep on the floor, here," Fraser offered. 

"Are you nuts? You want to hurt your back? Oh, right... you sleep on the floor all the time, doncha? Look, Fraser, the point is..." he hesitated. "The point is sleeping _together_." 

"Oh," came the serious reply, after a moment. 

"So, just, uh, can you help me walk to my bedroom and I'll change the sheets?" 

"I can change them," Fraser offered. 

"No, don't, I can't remember the last time I changed my sheets, Benton," Ray said, with that special little shy emphasis on Fraser's first name. "It'll be disgusting." 

"Ray. I have lived among the musk ox. Further, I lived in RCMP barracks while training. There is little you could be responsible for, in terms of housekeeping, that would surprise or disgust me." 

"Oh." 

Neither one had moved. It was so comfortable to lie the way they were. Ray's knees felt a little uncomfortable, since he was still kneeling... but most of his weight was thrown across Fraser, so the pressure on them was not very great. 

"You know, you'll have to throw a blanket over the window in there, too," Ray pointed out. 

"That's okay. It won't be long, Ray, before it's dark." 

"Yeah. Winter in Chicago. Daylight savings time. It sucks. Gets dark at like four in the afternoon." 

"Yes." 

A pause. Then Ray said, 

"Although now I got more reasons to like the dark hours of the day." A little teasing tone was in his voice. 

Fraser smiled to himself, feeling his partner's angular jaw and three day beard under his fingertips. Then Ray's hand stole up to take his and he felt Rays lips brush his knuckles in an oddly romantic, sensual way. 

"In Nunavut, Ray, the sun stays down the entire winter." He wondered what Ray would think of that. 

"That's a long night, Fraser," came Ray's dry reply, after a small hesitation. 

"Yes," the Mountie replied simply. 

Ray hesitated again. 

"But, you know, during a night that long... You could do... a lot," Ray added softly. 

His tone was wistful. He pressed his cheek against the back of Fraser's hand. 

* * * 

Ray woke some time in the middle of the night. He opened his eyes, momentarily freaked: there was someone in bed with him. Then as his brain awakened more fully, he remembered who, and why. 

Constable Benton Fraser. His partner. In bed with him. Naked. They were both naked, he suddenly realized. Absurdly, his cock began to harden again. 

The cuts at the creases of his thighs were sore -- too much bending and stretching of them. He had finally agreed to let Fraser change the sheets so they could sleep together comfortably in the bed, rather than uncomfortably on the couch. At first Fraser had offered to sleep on the floor. _What a freak..._ although he did sleep on the floor at the Consulate. 

But Ray was just glad to feel Fraser's solid, warm bulk near him. They had been quite randy -- again -- after Fraser had changed the sheets. That giddy sense of happiness that came with the joy of finding a new lover was stealing over Ray. 

But it wasn't only that. He couldn't believe his luck. He couldn't believe Fraser felt the same way. He couldn't believe anyone as handsome and attractive -- and _together_ \-- as Fraser would want to have anything to do with him. But, amazingly, Fraser did. 

Ray smiled in the dark. His hand reached out and felt the warm, smooth flesh of Fraser's back. He patted it, then rolled over on his stomach, sliding closer to Fraser. He threw an arm over Fraser's back. 

Just knowing he was there made all the difference in the world. It made going right back to sleep much easier... 

* * * 

Fraser woke suddenly, feeling the pressure of something on his back. He paused briefly, letting his thoughts come slowly to him... _Ah. Ray. Yes. Ray's arm_. He turned his head the other way, without getting up or rolling over and Ray was right next to him, pressed up against him. He had thrown his arm across Fraser's back. His face looked peaceful in the dimness. 

__

I won't think about anything else... Fraser thought stubbornly. _Ray needs to get well. And I'm going to help him until he is completely ready to go back to work._ Perhaps Ray was right that it could almost be considered his _duty_ to "make out" with Ray until Ray's injuries were completely healed... to speed the healing process, of course. 

He began drifting off to sleep again. It would be a light sleep -- the only kind he slept unless he was alone in bed or utterly exhausted. The thought briefly crossed his mind before he fell back to sleep that it just might speed the healing process for himself... 

And then he knew no more of the world for a while. 

* * * 

Ray woke to sun streaming through his windows, the sound of running water in his kitchen, and the smells of coffee and frying bacon. 

He half sat up in bed, and then winced as the healing cuts near his hips twinged painfully. _Damn._

He couldn't remember the last time he'd smelled frying bacon in the morning when he woke up. He couldn't remember the last time he woke to the sounds of someone making breakfast. 

__

This whole thing with Fraser... I feel like a kid again. 

He lay back down completely, to go back to sleep. But before he could roll over, facing away from the bright light, he heard footsteps coming down the hall to his room. The door opened slightly and Fraser looked in. 

"Frase," Ray said happily, and stretched like a cat -- until he winced from the pain of his stitched-up cuts. 

"Ray. I wasn't sure if you were awake." He opened the door fully and stood holding the door knob. He was once again fully clothed, tucked, buttoned... 

__

Darn, thought Ray. 

"How could I sleep with the smell of frying bacon?" Ray smiled. He put his hands behind his head and shrugged. "It's okay." _It's all good._

"Do you feel like you need another pain pill?" 

"Might not be a bad idea. They're bugging me. Not as bad as yesterday, but I don't feel like moving much." He shrugged again. 

Fraser looked at his partner, trying to memorize what he was seeing. He had never realized quite how blond Ray's hair really was. But the way the sun was coming through the bedroom window and streaming over the bed... made it suddenly obvious. Ray's eyes were bluer than he'd ever noticed \-- probably because his pupils had contracted from the amount of light. And his hair... it stuck up here and there, was flat in other places... it looked, actually, rather post-coital and ...rather provocative. Especially since he wore nothing but a sheet... 

He cleared his throat. "I'll bring you the prescription bottles. I bought some orange juice." He turned to go. 

"Hey, Fraser," Ray said, and he turned back. The detective smiled broadly and said, "You know, my ability to handle heavy machinery could be impaired by those pills. I could be considered, oh, under the influence. My judgment impaired. You could, uh, take advantage of that..." 

"Ray..." Fraser trailed off, blushing. 

"It was just a suggestion!" Ray protested, mock-ashamed. 

"I'll... get those pills." 

"You do that..." 

* * * 

And so it went for several days. Every morning, Fraser was up with the sun; Ray slept in -- often with Diefenbaker replacing the Mountie in his bed. At first, Fraser had been displeased with Diefenbaker. But then he'd come in one morning to find Ray with an arm thrown across the wolf as they both lay on their sides, snoring... and it seemed wrong to object to something that Ray took to so naturally. 

And then, there were the evenings. Ray slept a lot during the days, so he became more alert starting in the early evening. It was playing havoc with Fraser's usual schedule -- up with the sun -- but he hardly minded. How could he mind when every night after the weather on the nine o'clock news, Ray would get that look in his eye, and they were soon in the bedroom, stripping each other of their clothing? Aside from the fact that Ray really _was_ walking around with no pants much of the time... And Fraser didn't think it was because he was in that much pain anymore. 

No, it was definitely to entice Fraser. And of course it worked. But often later, when they lay slightly apart in the bed, sweat evaporating off their bodies, Fraser could not believe how much faster things had developed with Ray Kowalski. 

He felt terrible for comparing how things had gone with Ray Vecchio with how things were going with Ray Kowalski... but it was almost unavoidable. _It is only natural,_ he thought, _to extrapolate from one's experiences in one area of life to a new area which has many similar qualities._

But he suspected that the biggest difference in how swiftly "the ball got rolling" -- as Ray Kowalski said -- was that Ray seemed to feel no shame before they "fooled around" (as he said), and afterward felt no guilt and no regret. In fact, afterward, after the sweat had cooled on their bodies, Ray was often responsible for getting "things" started again. He seemed like he couldn't get enough. Even if he knew that neither of them would be able to orgasm in any reasonable amount of time, he would play with Fraser \-- or himself -- lazily, without even really pursuing climax, and they would talk. In fact, Ray talked a lot in bed. Before, during, and ...after. 

And Fraser was surprised to find himself talking back. It was bittersweet, in a way -- though Ray Kowalski didn't know that, and Fraser had no intention of telling him. But had Fraser known it was this easy \-- he'd have started it himself with Ray Vecchio. Maybe if he had, he'd have known what was coming... known Ray was leaving... known why. 

As it was, he touched on issues of Ray Vecchio, without saying who he spoke of. Kowalski had guessed that someone had hurt him and Fraser didn't elaborate. He spoke haltingly about Ray Vecchio, in vague terms, but only occasionally. And never by name. Every once in a while, in the middle of some specific caress, Kowalski would look at him and ask softly, "Did you guys do this?" 

At first, Fraser had been surprised and embarrassed. He'd almost instantly lost all arousal. It was if Kowalski could read his mind -- he had just been thinking about Ray Vecchio and how they had done the same thing. But it turned out that Ray himself was also remembering, reminiscing... about Stella. Fraser supposed it was unchivalrous, but since Ray never really said anything _bad_ about her or blamed her for anything, his occasional wistful comments of "Stella never did like doin' that" or "She used to love when I..." didn't seem as terrible as they might be. 

__

We're both... working things out, Fraser guessed. _With each other. Is that a bad thing?_ He didn't know. 

And with every time Ray asked him, "Did you guys do this?", Fraser found that, rather than cooling his ardor -- it inflamed it. Paradoxical but true. It was hard to remember that Ray could not see what was in his head. So he let the memories come to him as they often did, while he was in the middle of kissing and masturbating Ray Kowalski, or while he was in the middle of performing oral sex on him, or if he were in the middle of trying something that was new to Ray Kowalski, but Fraser and Vecchio had done uncountable times... And the memories would pass through him, and he would remember how it had been with Ray Vecchio, and then they would move along and there was Ray Kowalski, having his own unique reaction to it. 

It became apparent to Fraser that he wasn't deciding which man was "better"... only sorting out what distinguished them from each other... and how he could like completely different things in both of them. And having Ray Kowalski, he began to realize, was calming a lot of the anger he'd been shocked to discover he'd been harboring towards Ray Vecchio. Having Ray Kowalski in the present reminded him, in a bittersweet way, of how happy he'd first been when he and Ray Vecchio had found each other. 

Chapter 22: For What Seemed Like Hours

The long, black car moved lazily through the midday traffic. Gridlock had not yet set in at the intersections; it was not yet rush hour. The tinted windows made it impossible to determine who was inside the limousine. It could have been a businessman on the way to the airport as easily as it could have been a celebrity in town filming a movie or a rock star in town for some shows. 

"Take me down to Taylor Street. Little Italy," came the laconic voice through the window between the chauffeur and the luxurious interior for the passengers. 

The driver paused. "Are you sure, sir? The dinner you're to attend at Rosebud isn't until seven o'clock tonight. And it's the other Rosebud, the one on the Gold Coast. Not the one on Taylor. I thought you'd want to check in at the Palmer House Hilton first." 

"Taylor Street's is better," the passenger muttered, then spoke up. "Yeah, I'm sure. Take me there. I just wanna look around. Then we can go back to the Palmer House." 

"Yes, sir." 

They drove in silence, the driver expertly negotiating the aggressive taxis and only slightly less aggressive groups of pedestrians. Ray slid a hand over his closely cropped hair. It was barely a quarter inch all over his head. _Oh, well, might as well face up to the baldness this way, rather than pretending it's not there._ There was a certain amount of relief at facing reality. Besides, he'd grown a mustache since he'd adopted Armando's hair cut. _This guy's a good driver_ , he thought. _Doesn't argue but points out the potential problems. Then does what he's told to do. Like he should._

He fingered his tie nervously. It would not do to ask for Benny's address outright. No, once they got to Rosebud, then he'd ask the driver to take him by 221 West Racine. If only one of the goombahs was with him; he could send him up the stairs to see if Fraser was home. He already had his story planned if he could do this later: The Mountie had done some small insignificant favor for Armando, without knowing who Armando was, back before Armando had established himself. And like most wise guys, Armando just wanted to pay the Mountie back, see to it that the man had whatever he needed -- meanwhile Armando threw around his weight in a typically eccentric, wise guy way. Only thing was, this required a goon or two. Armando Langostini would never do something like that himself. _Just like Frankie Zuko wouldn't_ , he thought grimly. And those goombahs were waiting to meet him at the Palmer House. 

Surprisingly, they were soon south of the Loop, the driver having made it to Des Plaines and cruising south. At Roosevelt he turned right, heading west for the ghetto, the university, and Little Italy. 

There was much more development than Ray remembered. In just a short time, by real estate standards, entire buildings were gone. The Maxwell Street Market, he was surprised to discover, had been moved \-- a sign said so. Vacant lots -- huge vacant lots -- were fenced in by chain-link fence. Small signs said they were the property of the University of Illinois and that trespassers were trespassing on state property. 

Ray's heart leapt into his throat and began pounding when they reached Loomis. Rosebud's was quite a few blocks away yet... but Benny's apartment was not. They drove down Loomis to Taylor Street and then turned left onto Taylor. His heart slowed to a normal beat again. 

Rosebud, once they got there, was just as it ever had been: busy with cars in front of it and valets trying to move them. Ray couldn't tell which place got more business -- Rosebud, or Hawkeye's bar right across the street. Same as ever, though. They served completely different groups of people anyway, except for intersecting university stiffs who normally drank and ate at Hawkeye's but wanted to spend money and taste the good life at Rosebud's. The pasta puttanesca or fettuccine alfredo; a good Chianti. 

The driver paused in front of Rosebud, putting the limousine in park. The engine idled quietly. 

"We're here, boss." 

"Same as I remember it..." Ray said, trailing off. Now, to the real destination. 

"You want I should park? Going upstairs for a bite?" the driver asked. 

Ray cleared his throat. "Nah. Just wanted to see if things around here were the same," he said weakly. "Um, take me to 221 West Racine." 

"Sure." The driver put the limo in drive, and accelerated slowly towards Ashland avenue, where he made a right. To go back to Racine. 

It was a short trip. The driver paused several times, checking the addresses of buildings. But Ray's heart had begun pounding as soon as they had turned onto Benny's block. The building \-- Benny's apartment building -- was gone. 

"Looks like there is no 221 West Racine, sir," the chauffeur's confused voice floated back to Ray. 

He heard it only dimly, his chest tight, his mouth dry. _Where's Benny? Where's his building? What happened to him?_ he wondered wildly. With an effort, he swallowed the dry lump in his throat and tried to prepare to speak normally. 

But before he could, he was assailed by another wave of fear. He couldn't remember the number. The number of the Consulate. How could he have forgotten the number? Was he so deep into Armando Langostini that his previous life -- his _real_ life -- was already forgotten? His stomach roiled. He wanted a Tums. No one ever said this would be easy, but he hadn't expected ulcers, either. _Why did I ever take this assignment..._

The driver waited. A brief look in the rear view mirror revealed a startling sight: the wise guy looked scared. As the chauffeur watched, he gulped and swallowed several times. He closed his eyes and simply breathed. 

Embarrassed at having seen something he supposed he should not have, the driver looked away, out at the street, at the working stiffs walking past. He was the soul of discretion; that's why the wise guys used him again and again, even though he wasn't a wise guy goon himself. The money was good -- cash up front, no questions asked -- and he didn't want to screw up the gravy train. 

Eventually, Ray calmed himself, let the smooth, slick mask of Armando Langostini drop over his features. 

"Fine," he said tonelessly to the driver. "Find me the nearest pay phone not on the street." 

The driver knew better than to question why Langostini wouldn't use his cell phone. He'd driven for enough of these wise guys to know that they knew the likelihood of having their lines tapped, even cell phones. For calls they didn't want traced, they'd lose the gentleman bit and hoof it to a payphone like a regular guy. 

The nearest payphone not on the street was in the greasy diner slightly up and across the street. The driver stopped in front of it. 

"You want I should double park, or drive around the block?" he asked Armando Langostini. 

"Double park. I shouldn't be that long." 

Before the driver could get out and do it for him, the elegantly dressed wise guy had opened the back door of the limo and sprang out. He adjusted his silk tie, and fished in his pocket for some change. The cold wind blew his silk Armani suit against his body and his breath frosted in front of him as he dashed into the restaurant. 

The driver watched through the window. First Langostini spoke with the guy behind the counter. Passed him some bills. The guy went to the register, opened it, stuffed the bills in, and took out some change. He dumped them into the hand of the waiting wise guy. 

Then Langostini went to the pay phone. 

\----------- 

He tried to still the shaking of his hands as he deposited several coins. His fingers shook as he dialed 411. 

"City and state, please," came the impersonal voice of the operator. 

"Chicago. Illinois. The Canadian Consulate." His voice shook, despite trying to control it. Thank God there was no one near enough to overhear. He couldn't believe he had forgotten the number. Far away, deep inside him, tears came to the eyes of Ray Vecchio. But the cold, blank face of Armando Langostini \-- the face he saw reflected in the stainless steel of the payphone -- revealed nothing. 

She punched something and then was off the line. A recorded voice. 

"The area code and number is: 312-616-1860." 

His fingers still shook as he dialed the number. 

\---------- 

Turnbull was going through some paperwork methodically at the front desk when the phone rang. He picked it up. 

"Canadian Consulate, Chicago. Constable Turnbull speaking." 

A trembling voice asked for Constable Fraser. There was something oddly familiar about that voice, but Turnbull couldn't place it. 

"Certainly, sir. And who may I say is calling?" 

There was a pause on the line. Then the voice came again, trembling less. "An old friend." 

"Thank you, sir, just a moment." 

He hit call transfer, got the stutter dial tone, and transferred it to Constable Fraser's extension. The Constable picked up. 

"Constable Fraser." 

"Constable Fraser, Constable Turnbull here. I have a call transfer for you. The caller didn't give his name, just said he was an old friend. Shall I put him through?" 

There was a pause. Then, "Yes, Turnbull, put him through," Constable Fraser said slowly. 

"Certainly, sir," Turnbull answered. He hit call transfer and then he hung up. 

\----------- 

Fraser heard the line switch over and Turnbull hang up. But then, nothing. 

"This is Constable Fraser," he said carefully. "Hello?" 

There was no response, though he thought he heard someone breathing. Then that sound became muffled. 

\------------ 

Armando Langostini held the phone away from his ear. The fear slowly left his body; he felt as if the wind had been completely knocked out of his sails. He held the phone against his chest, resting his forehead against the wall, shaking with the effort to control his desire to sob with relief. 

He gingerly put the phone to his ear again, after a few long, deep breaths. 

"Hello? Who's there? Hello?" came that calm, familiar voice. 

Langostini listened briefly, simply relieved to hear that voice. All the visions that had flashed before his eyes between seeing the empty lot where 221 West Racine was, and hearing that voice, slowly drained from his mind. He replaced the phone in the receiver without saying anything. He did not let go of it for what seemed like hours, yet he knew it was only a minute or two. 

With his feet dragging somewhat, feeling drained -- but like he could breathe again \-- he slowly left the diner and walked between the parked cars out to the double-parked limousine. The driver had seen him coming and had the door open before he reached it. He settled himself heavily in the back seat, and the driver closed out the cold air with a thump. 

\----------- 

The line clicked, and Fraser knew he'd been hung up on. Impulsively, he dialed the numbers for automatic callback: the star, then 6 and 9. 

"The number you are trying to reach can not be accessed with this service..." 

He hung up the phone in frustration. 

Who had been on the line? 

He uneasily went back to work, but the thought occurred to him repeatedly throughout the afternoon. A true old friend would not have hung up; a real old friend would have responded to his repeated "hellos, Fraser thought. So if it wasn't a friend... 

He tried very hard not to think about who, out of all his previous arrests... who it could have been. 

\--------------- 

Upon reaching Ray's apartment after work, he stepped into the front door. Ray had already given him keys to his apartment. Almost immediately, Fraser was pinned against the wall and thoroughly kissed by Ray Kowalski. This had come to be standard operating procedure with Ray, as long as he was home when Fraser came by. 

Today however, Fraser was flustered and slightly discomfited. 

"What's up, Frase?" came Ray's inquiry, as he slid his hands up his partner's arms. 

"Nothing, Ray... just... something peculiar at work today," he replied, slipping out of Ray's grasp and slowly taking off his pea coat. He hung it in the hall closet and then went into the living room, Ray trailing behind him. 

"Peculiar, how?" 

"Oh, nothing much, really," he fibbed. "Just a phone call that got transferred to me. When I picked it up, no one was on the line." 

__

That's not really true, he told himself. _You know there was someone on the line... why lie to Ray? But it's not really a lie... just a fib... they hung up very quickly, so it might as well have been no one on the line..._

"Maybe it was a wrong number," Ray suggested, watching Fraser seat himself on the sofa. 

"Maybe," the Mountie agreed, nodding, after the slightest hesitation. _No, it was not a wrong number,_ he thought. _Not if they asked for you by name and title_. 

Ray watched him for a moment, then spoke. 

"Did you eat?" 

"No, Ray, not since lunch." 

"Wanna go out, or order in?" Ray asked, toeing the corner of the rug, not looking at his partner, the corners of his mouth slightly upturned. 

"Ordering in would be just fine, Ray," Fraser said, oblivious. He closed his eyes and passed a hand over them. Then the air around him seemed to change, slightly. He opened his eyes, and found himself looking right into Ray Kowalski's face. 

"Let's get you outta that uniform," Ray said a bit thickly, leaning down, eyes sparkling with anticipation. 

Fraser looked wordlessly up at him, and watched as Ray's right hand extended to his throat. They gazed steadily into each other's eyes as Ray opened Fraser's collar with that ripping sound from the Velcro. 

And then Ray's hot mouth was upon his and the detective's fingers tore at the buttons on Fraser's serge tunic. 

The Mountie leaned back on the sofa, his mouth being devoured, his clothes being opened, feeling the fingers at his belt, his fly. He was still not used to this \-- to Ray, any time, all the time, wanting to ravish him. It rather overwhelmed him; but he rather welcomed it, too, knowing that he himself would have delighted in doing the same to Ray -- if he were only more demonstrative and less inhibited than he was. 

It seemed to come so naturally \-- so easy -- so freely from Ray. As if, now that Ray knew it was all right with Fraser, he was determined not to waste a moment of free, private time that could be put to better use caressing and pleasing each other... making each other happy and sated. 

Some day, maybe Fraser could be that uninhibited and giving -- not that it was caused by some kind of stinginess of his affection -- no, not at all. It just... didn't come so naturally to him, to be so carefree and honest about what he wanted \-- both what he wanted to _do_ , and what he wanted to have _done_ to him. So, though he envied Ray's carefree pursuit of the pleasures of life, he was also secretly very pleased by it.... and surprised and wordlessly grateful that it was centered on him. 

Secretly he hoped to achieve Ray's level of "sneak attack" skills, and to turn the tables and start surprising and pleasing Ray at spontaneous and unexpected moments of private time, the way Ray did to him. Some day, anyway... So Fraser felt it all -- the hands that drew him out and the mouth that surrounded his cock. And gave in -- happily -- to the detective's eager advances. 

Despite his swiftly rising pleasure, the uneasy thought \-- who had been on the line? -- darted in and out of his otherwise delightfully preoccupied thoughts, a mosquito disturbing his full enjoyment of Ray's ardor. But the thought was finally banished completely, when Ray brought the Mountie to a point of arousal where he could think of nothing else but that he was going to come, going to come; and then he was, hard, and into Ray's mouth. 

Moments later -- his brow, his chest and his lap sweaty -- he stroked Ray's sweat-damp hair as the detective rested his cheek on Fraser's thigh. The thrumming of Fraser's heart slowed to a more normal pace; he heard Ray catching his breath; the forceful exhalations on Fraser's thigh slowed and softened. His thoughts circled drowsily back from blissful nothingness to everyday thoughts. 

And the thought was back: who had that been on the line? 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
end.  
  
  


#### End Notes/Credits, Acknowledgements, "Thank-you-kindly"s

__

Thank You:  
  
I must extend big, big thanks to Renny and Blarney Stone who were my beta readers for The Burnham Triangle. I couldn't have done it without you! Thanks must also go to Cate North, Caroline A., Maya, Kellie M., Elaine, Anagi, and many others who I'm forgetting for comments and encouragements and willingness to discuss characters and motivations. I couldn't have kept going with this story without your support. And I truly apologize if I've missed anyone in these acknowledgements. I've lost my mail like four times since I started this story and thus lost a lot of correspondence about it. Grateful vibes to all who commented/discussed things! 

Finally, many, many thanks to the fanfic readers on DSX, Serge and those who browse Hexwood. Your emailed comments to me over the past year or so when this story was "in progress" helped keep the fires burning. This story is so long and it took so long to write... and it's not done yet! I am so grateful to everyone for their comments and support.  
  
  
_Notes/Credits_ : 

Chapters 6-7  
The woman's voice in the song playing in the night club and the song lyrics: "Push It", by Garbage, from the album Version 2.0 

Chapter 7  
"Laying back like an empty dress in his arms" is paraphrased from the song "And I Moved" by Pete Townshend from his album Empty Glass. (Good slash song from before Townshend admitted his bisexuality. "Rough Boys" is another good slashy song from Empty Glass...) 

Chapter 17  
When Ray is laying in the slasher's car and feels "warm air blowing over his private parts" -- and later when he "felt a great chill over his private parts" -- that was paraphrased from the Tragically Hip song "Lionized". 

Chapter 19  
"Blood makes noise" is the lyric and title of a Suzanne Vega song 

Chapter 20  
reference to Sarah MacLachlan's "Won't Fear Love" in the lyrics "we will play, with chairs, candles and cloth, making darkness in the day"  
  


**Author's Note:**

> The unofficial sequel to this would be [Living in a Bomb Shelter](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11141856).


End file.
